OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 


OP  IE  READ 


C 


OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 


OTHER   BOOKS    BY   OPIE    READ: 


A  Kentucky  Colonel 

Emmet  Bonlore 

Len  Gansett 

A  Tennessee  Judge 

The  Jucklins 

Old  Ebenczcr 

An  Arkansas  Planter 

On  the  Suwanee  River 

My  Young  Master 


Bolanyo 

A  Yankee  from  the  West 
The  Wives  of  the  Prophet 
In  the  Alamo,  igoo  R  I 
Judge  Elbridge,  1900  R  i 
Waters  of  Caney  Fork,  R  i 
(With  Frank  Pixley)  The 

Carpetbagger,  L  I 
Tke  Starbucks,  IQOZ  L  i 


Old  Lim  Jucklin 


The  Opinions  of 
an  Open-air  Philosopher 


By 

OPIE  READ 


New  York 

Doubleday,  Page  &  Company 
1905 


Copyright,  1904,  1905,  by 
Opie  Read 

Published,  October,  1905 


All  rights  reserved, 

including  that  of  translation  into  foreign  languages, 
including  the  Scandinavian. 


THE  WORLD'S  WORK  PRESS,  NEW  YORK 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 
I. 

On   Politics           .         .         .         .         . 

PAGE 

3 

II. 

The  Country  Editor's  Dinner 

9 

III. 

Rooster   Fight               .... 

.       16 

IV. 

On  Marriage        ..... 

•      23 

V. 

On  Hell       

.      29 

VI. 

On  First  Love      ....". 

•      35 

VII. 

On  Books     . 

41 

VIII. 

On  Lawyers         ..... 

•      47 

IX. 

On  Country  Doctors      .... 

•      53 

X. 

On  Gambling       ..... 

•      59 

XI. 

On  Drinking          ..... 

.      65 

XII. 

On  Dogs      ...... 

•      71 

XIII. 

On  Truth     .          .         .         .         .         . 

77 

XIV. 

On  Horse  Sense     ..... 

.        82 

XV. 

On  Women  Reformers 

.      88 

XVI. 

On  War  and  Prayer       .... 

.      94 

XVII. 

On  the  Young  Husband 

.       100 

XVIII. 

On  Wealth           

.     106 

XIX. 

On  the  Commercial  Traveller 

.      112 

XX. 

On  the  Farmer      .... 

118 

XXI. 

The  Horse  Trader        .... 

.     124 

XXII. 

The  Rebel  and  the  Yankee 

.     130 

XXIII. 

Old  Lim's  Ride     

.     136 

XXIV. 

The  Congressman          .... 

.     142 

XXV. 

On  Politeness       . 

.     148 

XXVI. 

On  Opportunity  for  the  Aged 

•     154 

XXVII. 

Shakespeare           .         .         .         *         , 

.     160 

XXVIII. 

At  the  Theatre 

.     166 

XXIX. 

On  the  Poker   Player     . 

V 

•     172 

M1O4382 


CONTENTS— Continued 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXX.  The  Horse  Doctor                                             *     178 

XXXI.  "Tannhauser"       .».„..     184 

XXXII.  The  Rainy  Day     .         .         .         .        ..         .190 

XXXIII.  On  Funerals         .    .      .         .  .          .     196 

XXXIV.  On    Strikes  .         .         .         .         .         .     202 

XXXV.  On  the  Country  Fiddler                                    .     208 

XXXVI.  On  Sympathy       ......     214 

XXXVII.  On  Inquisitiveness     '    .         .         .         .         •     220 

XXXVIII.     On  the  Past .226 

XXXIX.     On    Eating 232 

XL.  ADinneratTalbert's     .          .         .         .         .     238 

XLL  On  Football         .         .         .         .         .         .244 

XLII.  On  Getting  Rich  Quick        ....     251 

XLIII.  On  Patience         .         .         .         .         .         -     257 


OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 


CHAPTER    I 
ON  POLITICS 

THE  forum  of  old  Lim  Jucklin's  wisdom  was  the 
horse-block  in  front  of  the  cross-roads  store. 
In  the  rural  South  age  means  wisdom.  Merely 
to  have  seen  the  seasons  come  and  go  is  knowledge,  and 
when  age  talks  not  only  youth  but  middle  age  must  be 
content  to  listen.  Cultivation  is  mere  book-learning,  hear 
say,  the  rumour  of  an  unsubstantiated  truth,  as  if  the 
book  were  not  the  experience  of  man's  mind.  The  well- 
read  and  travelled,  if  not  yet  out  from  under  the  contempt 
of  "immature  years,"  must  sit  respectful-dumb  while 
an  old  man  who  may  never  have  crossed  the  line  of  his 
county  consents  to  give  an  hour's  homily  upon  the 
affairs  of  the  world.  But  with  age  there  sometimes  comes 
a  mellow  and  a  sweet  ripening  of  that  half  philosophical 
humour  which  musty  books  bound  in  the  hide  of  some 
ancient  fatted  calf  delightfully  tell  us  is  almost  wholly 
an  Anglo-Saxon  heritage. 

But  old  Lim  had  been  out  of  his  county.  He  had 
travelled  into  the  North,  the  land  where  every  man  was 
for  himself.  In  Chicago  he  had  bought  the  pair  of 
"gold-rimmed"  spectacles  which  some  clergyman  must 
have  lost,  and  in  a  modest  little  transaction  he  had  per- 

3 


OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 


sriitted  a  'Michigan  fruit  farmer  to  pluck  off  a  patch 
&f'&&  WelS-freaSonfco!  sjdn.  And  while  these  transactions 
were  reckoned '  among  his  accomplishments,  they  turned 
somewhat  pale  when  compared  with  the  fact  that  he  could 
come  nearer  guessing  the  weight  of  a  hog  or  the  height 
of  a  mule  than  any  man  in  North  Carolina.  It  is  on 
record  that  he  was  a  believer  in  the  Book  from  "kiver 
to  kiver,"  and  in  his  neighbourhood  it  is  known  that 
once  he  walloped  one  of  the  Harvey  boys  for  tittering 
at  a  baptising.  He  furnished  the  oak  slab  that  had  been 
fashioned  into  the  mourner's  bench  at  Siloam  meeting 
house.  His  wife  gave  to  the  circuit  rider  more  pairs 
of  wool  socks  than  any  other  woman  in  the  community. 
And  the  old  man  himself  had  been  known  not  indeed  to 
shout  during  a  camp  meeting,  but  afterward  to  call  hogs 
with  more  fervour  than  was  his  accustomed  habit.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  these  unmistakable  tokens  of  a  pious 
life,  he  gave  to  game  roosters  a  devotion  that  smacked 
of  fanaticism.  Through  the  wind-howl  of  a  winter's 
night — through  the  icy  thicket  he  would  shoulder  his 
way,  mile  after  mile,  to  be  present  at  a  contest.  He 
lamented  the  fate  of  the  defeated,  but  gloried  over  the 
victor.  But  he  never  wagered  a  penny.  That  would 
have  been  irreligious.  With  others  the  fighting  of  chickens 
was  a  sport.  With  him  it  was  an  emotion.  So,  with  his 
moral  establishment  well  known  and  with  his  wisdom 
unquestioned,  whenever  of  a  Saturday  afternoon  he 
took  his  seat  on  the  old  horse-block,  there  was 
always  an  audience  waiting,  not  out  of  respect 


ON  POLITICS  5 

for  his  years,  but  looking  for  man's  natural  reward — 
amusement. 

"They  have  about  settled  the  coming  election,"  said 
he,  as  he  parted  the  tails  of  nis  brown  jeans  coat  and 
sat  down.  "Don't  believe  I  ever  saw  an  election  comin' 
that  wa'n't  already  settled.  And  it  would  look  like  there 
wa'n't  any  use  of  havin'  but  one  side;  but,  yet,  somehow 
the  other  side  always  does  putty  well  when  the  votes  are 
counted.  The  man  that  understands  arithmetic  is  bad 
in  politics.  He  likes  to  figger,  and  a  man  that  does 
usually  figgers  too  much.  It's  an  old  sayin'  that  figgers 
don't  lie,  and  that  may  be  true,  but  sometimes  they  are 
found  in  the  wrong  place. 

"Both  of  the  great  political  parties  are  wise,  for  they 
always  nominate  the  right  man.  And  what  a  fine  president 
he  would  have  made  if  he  had  only  been  elected.  And 
the  minute  the  other  candidate  is  elected  he  ceases  to  be 
a  politician  and  becomes  a  statesman.  But  death  has 
made  more  statesmen  than  office  ever  did.  In  this  life 
a  great  reward  is  offered  to  rascality,  and  that's  the  reason 
there  are  so  many  politicians.  Enough  votes  would 
make  any  man  great/  but  not  enough  will  turn  the  wisest 
man  into  a  fly-up-the-creek.  When  a  man  that  is  looking 
for  an  office  begins  to  tell  me  that  he's  a  sincere  American 
I  believe  him.  I  believe  he  wants  the  place,  and  in  this 
way  the  lives  of  some  men  illustrate  an  eternal  truth. 
They  eternally  want  something.  Running  for  office  is  a 
hard  habit  to  break,  but  when  a  man  has  been  beaten  a 
time  or  two  for  president  he  cools  down  might'ly.  Some 


6  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

of  our  smartest  men  have  been  defeated  for  president, 
and  among  them  was  Henry  Clay,  but  he  oughtn't  to  have 
expected  the  office  when  old  Andy  Jackson  and  the  Lord 
were  against  him.  And  it  is  naturally  to  be  supposed 
that  the  Lord  still  has  a  good  deal  of  influence  durin' 
election  time,  but  it  is  a  question  whether  or  not  He  always 
uses  it. 

"Ever  since  I  can  recollect  the  country  has  been  goin* 
to  ruin.  It  seems  that  the  constitution  was  born  ruined 
and  has  been  imposed  upon  ever  since.  But  it  is  a  mighty 
hard  thing  to  tear  to  pieces.  But  if  the  right  man  isn't 
elected  this  time  not  only  the  constitution  but  the  whole 
country  will  have  to  go  on  crutches.  Old  Uncle  John 
Moss  is  the  oldest  man  in  the  county  and  he  says  that  the 
world  is  a  failure,  and  if  this  is  true  America  must  go 
along  in  with  the  general  no  accountness  of  it  all.  But 
I  noticed  that  last  year  my  bottom  field  raised  more  corn 
to  the  acre  than  for  several  years  past,  and  as  long  as  this 
continues  to  be  the  case  I  ain't  in  a  fitten  frame  of  mind 
to  believe  in  all  the  bad  news  I  hear.  No  matter  how 
much  good  news  you  get,  bad  news  is  sure  to  follow. 
Some  time  ago  old  man  Joyner  threatened  that  if  his 
candidate  wa'n't  elected  president  he  would  pick  up  and 
move  out  of  the  neighbourhood.  His  man  waVt  elected 
and  he  moved  over  across  the  creek,  and  four  years  after 
ward,  when  his  man  was  again  beaten,  he  moved  back. 
So,  I  have  noticed  that  about  all  there  is  to  the  average 
man's  political  disappointments  is  that  in  his  revenge  he 
thinks  he  has  done  something  notable  when  he  hasn't. 


ON  POLITICS  7 

"About  the  worst  lickin'  I  ever  got  was  shortly  after 
I  had  cast  my  first  vote.  There  were  two  men  running 
hot  for  constable.  I  half-way  promised  to  vote  for  one 
of  them,  a  fellow  named  Henk.  The  election  was  held 
by  word  of  mouth,  and  when  the  time  came  I  couldn't 
remember  Henk's  name  and  voted  for  Jones  because  it 
was  easier.  And  that  is  about  as  much  intelligence  as 
some  people  show  in  their  voting  now.  They  vote  the 
way  that  looks  the  easiest.  What  did  Henk  do?  I  met 
him  at  a  sawmill  and  he  took  a  piece  of  scantling  to  me, 
an'  by  the  time  I  made  up  my  mind  what  to  do  he  had  me 
whipped.  A  man  ought  always  have  his  mind  fully  made 
up  as  to  what  he  will  do  when  the  worst  comes.  I  managed 
to  tell  him  that  I  didn't  fully  promise  to  vote  for  him,  that 
I  had  only  half  made  up  my  mind,  and  he  'lowed,  'Yes, 
and  that  is  the  reason  I  only  half  kill  you  now.' 

"If  you  see  a  fight  coming  it  is  better  to  make  up  your 
mind  to  run  than  not  to  be  firmly  settled  on  some  particular 
mode  of  action.  The  bravest  man  may  appear  like  a 
coward  if  he's  unsettled  in  his  mind,  and  while  he  is 
still  unsettled  the  other  fellow  may  overpower  him.  It 
is  mind  that  fights.  As  long  as  a  rooster's  mind  is  steady 
his  head  is  steady,  but  the  minute  he  begins  to  look  around 
he  discovers  a  chance  to  run.  If  he  had  fully  made  up  his 
mind  not  to  run  he  wouldn't  have  found  the  opportunity. 
Some  one  thought  to  be  wise  said  that  a  good  run  was 
better  than  a  bad  stand,  but  it  is  not  true.  As  long  as 
you  think  it  is  good  to  run  you'll  keep  on  runnin'.  And 
when  you  run  once  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  make  up  your 


8  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

mind  that  to  stand  is  bad.  Whenever  a  man  is  branded  as 
a  coward  all  the  other  cowards  want  to  take  a  whack  at 
him.  Therefore  it  is  better  to  be  whipped  every  day  in 
the  week  than  to  run  once,  for  with  the  comin'  of  the  next 
week  the  situation  is  mighty  apt  to  undergo  a  change. 
Bad  stands  stood  get  better  all  the  time.  But  when  a 
man  has  once  been  whipped  he  is  never  the  same  after 
ward.  It  is  better  to  have  a  broken  head  than  a  broken 
spirit.  Without  spirit  the  strongest  man  is  but  a  worm. 
"Success  may  after  a  while  enable  the  candidate  to  tell 
the  truth,  but  it  seems  that  when  a  man  breaks  into 
politics  he  breaks  in  as  a  liar.  It  may  be  almost  uncon 
scious  on  his  part,  but  it  ain't  long  till  he's  sayin*  things 
that  he  don't  believe.  And  what  appears  to  grieve  him 
is  the  fact  that  other  people  don't  either.  If  your  son-in- 
law  is  hesitating  between  politics  and  the  penitentiary, 
remember  that  if  he  goes  to  the  penitentiary  you  won't 
have  to  take  care  of  him.  Many  an  honest  man  has  had  a 
chance  to  become  a  politician  and  didn't.  A  politician's 
smile  may  be  bright,  and  so  is  a  sunbeam  when  it  falls  on 
a  puddle  where  the  hogs  have  been  wallerin'." 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  COUNTRY  EDITOR'S  DINNER 

COLONEL  SHANG  W.  MOWLETT,  the  editor  of  the 
country  paper,  while  out  for  a  day  among  his  subscribers, 
halted  at  the  house  of  old  Limuel  Jucklin.  He  had 
time  to  stop  only  for  a  few  moments,  he  said;  a  delinquent 
tax  list  demanded  his  attention  at  home,  and  as  his  "patent 
side"  had  not  as  yet  been  reclaimed  from  the  merciless 
maw  of  the  express  office,  nothing  toward  the  printing 
of  his  next  number  could  be  done  until  after  his  return  to 
town. 

And  after  sitting  a  long  time  it  seemed  as  if  he  were 
about  to  go.  He  took  up  his  hat  and  had  made  a  motion 
to  put  it  on  his  head  when  his  attention  was  seized  upon 
by  the  rattle  of  dishes  in  the  dining-room,  just  across  the 
broad  passageway  in  the  north  section  of  the  old  log  house. 
It  is  of  no  doubt  that  the  embryo  crowing  of  a  half- 
feathered  dominecker  had  appealed  to  the  scribe  to  break 
his  journey  in  the  hope  of  breaking  his  fast  at  the  house 
of  his  "constant  reader,"  and  as  he  drove  into  the  yard 
he  was  seen  to  cock  his  eye  at  a  Plymouth  Rock  pullet. 

But  as  the  hours  wore  hungrily  along  he  saw  no  signs 
of  dinner.  In  no  seeming  fear  of  danger  the  chickens 
walked  about  the  yard.  And  from  the  window,  where  a 

9 


10  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

perfumed  breeze  murmured  music  amid  the  tendrils  of 
a  trumpet  vine,  the  editor  looked  across  a  corner  of  the 
garden  into  a  lot  where  in  the  sunshine  sucking  pigs,  just 
big  enough,  if  roasted,  to  hold  crab  apples  in  their  mouths, 
were  tumbling  over  one  another. 

Not  with  an  extra  effort  of  memory  was  it  that  the 
newspaper  man  recalled  the  fact  that  his  pre-daylight 
breakfast  had  consisted  mainly  of  sodden  cakes  and 
extreme  hurry.  It  was  fresh  in  his  mind  as  he  heard  the 
"pot  rack,  pot  rack"  of  a  guinea  hen.  But  with  the  air 
of  vital  concern  he  talked  on  the  condition  of  the  country 
and  of  foreign  probabilities.  He  didn't  load  down  his 
speculative  mind  with  what  had  taken  place.  That  would 
have  been  a  matter  of  mere  industry.  It  lay  within  the 
keen  province  of  his  vision  to  discover  what  might  be  done 
if  such  and  such  should  happen.  If  a  certain  prime 
minister  should  resign,  or  if  the  emperor  should  so  far 
forget  himself  as  to  say  so  and  so  in  his  coming  speech, 
why  it  was  clear  that  this,  that  and  the  other  would  happen. 
And  old  Lim  agreed  that  it  was  no  doubt  true. 

The  sun  lost  its  balance  and  slipped  over  into  the  after 
noon,  the  waving  vine  at  the  window  sifted  a  softer  light, 
and  still  there  was  no  call  from  pot  or  pan.  So,  at  last, 
the  editor  arose  and  was  about  to  put  his  hat  on  his 
head  when  there  came  from  the  dining-room  the  rattle 
of  dishes.  Then  he  hesitated,  turned  about  as  if  he  had 
just  thought  of  a  wise  thing  to  say,  and  sat  down. 

"  I  reckon  a  cat  must  have  run  over  the  table,"  said  old 
Lim,  and  Shang  W.  Mowlett's  heart  beat  low  in  despair. 


THE  COUNTRY  EDITOR'S  DINNER       11 

"Sorry,  Colonel,  you  didn't  come  a  little  earlier.  Reckon 
you  seen  some  of  them  pigs  out  there.  Had  one  of  their 

brothers  roasted  to  a  fall  of  the  year  brown,  and " 

The  editor  grabbed  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his 
mouth.  Old  Lim  continued:  "And  I  had  some  early 
rose  potatoes  as  pink-eyed  as  one  of  these — these  Albu 
mins — is  that  what  you  call  'em  ?  " 

"Albinos,"  drawled  the  editor. 

"Yes,  that's  it;  seen  one  in  the  side  show  when  the 
cirkis  come  to  Purdy.  And  I  had  some  of  the  best  corn 
bread  I  reckon  you  ever  saw — made  out  of  this  pearl 
corn.  Hard!  Why,  you  could  have  a  grain  of  it  set  and 
wear  it  for  a  breastpin.  Along  with  it  all,  too,  was  a 
yaller  pitcher  full  of  buttermilk  brought  from  the  spring 
house,  and " 

"I've  got  to  go,"  the  editor  exclaimed,  jumping  up  and 
clapping  his  hat  on  his  head. 

"  Wait  a  minit  and  let  me  tell  you  about  it.  Set  down," 
and  the  old  man  shoved  the  editor  back  into  his  chair. 
"And  I  do  reckon  I  had  some  of  the  best  sparrer  grass 
that  ever  growd  outen  the  ground,  and  these  little  brownish 
redishes  that  look  like  a  rusty-coat  apple.  Haungry! 
Why,  Colonel,  I  never  was  haungryer  in  my  life.  And 
Susan,  my  wife,  she  kept  of  a  sayin',  'Do  have  another 
help  to  the  pig,'  and — well,  I  eat  enough  to  last  me  for  a 
week.  I  reckon  you  are  that  way,  too.  Folks  must 
bring  you  thousands  of  things — these  here  women  that 
write;  don't  care  much  for  suthin'  to  eat  themselves  and 
fetch  it  to  you.  You  may  not  make  as  much  money  as  a 


12  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

county  jedge,  but  I  take  it  you  live  off 'n  the  fat  of  the 
land.  So  you  think  that  if  this  here  prime  preacher 
resigns " 

"Prime  minister,"  muttered  the  editor. 

"Ah,  hah.  And  you  think  if  he  resigns  and  the  emperor 
ketches  cold  and  sneezes  before  breakfast  there's  likely 
to  be  rain  in  northwest  township,  range  east.  Looks 
that  way  to  me,  too;  and  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  make  my 
priparations  accordin'.  But,  speakin'  of  breakfast,  there 
ain't  nothin'  nicer,  to  my  notion,  than  a  piece  of  roasted 
pig,  with  the  brown  crust  on  it,  briled  on  the  coals.  Oh, 
I  hear  of  folks  that  for  breakfast  eat  hot  milk  and  doll 
stuffin',  but  that  don't  touch  the  spot  where  I  live.  Now  a 
right  nice  yaller-leg  chicken,  a  leetle  more  than  half 
grown,  snatched  off'n  the  face  of  the  earth  and  fried  before 
he  knows  what's  the  matter  with  him — he's  some,  I  want 
to  tell  you.  Made  up  your  mind  yit  as  to  who  is  to  be 
the  next  president?  But  I  reckon  you've  been  so  busy 
you  hain't  paid  much  attention  to  it.  This  here  social 
life,  too,  keeps  you  on  the  trot  a  good  deal,  I  reckon. 
And  dinners,  too;  you  have  to  go  to  them;  and  they  eat 
dinners  now  in  the  night,  I'm  told.  I  like  'em  best  when 
the  sun  gits  jest  about  as  high  as  it  kin,  but  the  time 
don't  make  so  much  difference  as  what  they  have  to  eat. 
Sorry  my  wife  ain't  at  home.  She  could  skeer  up  a  bite 
for  you.  She  got  my  dinner  as  quick  as  she  could  and 
hurried  over  to  one  of  the  neighbours,  where  the  old- 
maid  school  teacher  ain't  expected  to  live  till  sun-down. 
Nearly  all  the  women  folks  in  the  neighbourhood  are 


THE  COUNTRY  EDITOR'S  DINNER       13 

flockin'  over  there,  and  I  reckon  they'll  have  a  good 
time.     The  old  maid  was  engaged  to  be  married  and 
that  makes   her  death  all  the  more  interestin'.     Don't 
ricollect  when  old  Dorb  Servier  died,  do  you  ?     I  set  up 
with  him  the  night  afterward,  and  along  about  twelve 
o'clock  old  Aunt  Judy,  that  worked  there,  skeered  us  up 
about  as  good  a  snack  as  I  ever  eat.     Some  seem  to  forgit 
that  folks  get  hungry,  but  old  Aunt  Judy  wan't  one  o' 
that  kind.     She  had  a  way  of  fryin'  hominy  in  ham  gravy 
that  would  make  a  saint  pop  his  mouth  like  a  bull  whip. 
I  eat  and  eat— well,  I  jest  eat  till  I  forgot  all  about  old 
Dorb  in  the  next  room.     He  was  mighty  fond  of  cards, 
and  Bill  Atcherson  'lowed  that  he  was  a  lyin'  there  a 
waitin'   for  the   last   trump.     Now,   Bill,   he's  monst'us 
fond  of  good  things  to  eat.     Tuther  day  he  brought  me 
about  as  fine  a  mess  of  young  squirrels  as  I  ever  set  down 
to.     Fried  'em  in  the  lard  out  of  a  mast-fed  hog.     And 
that   reminds    me.     Is    there    anything   sweeter   than    a 
chinkapin  ham?     Jest  take  and  b'il  it  in  cider  about 
four  days  old  and— I  tell  you,  then  you've  got  suthin'  to 
smack  your  mouth  over." 

The  editor  got  out  of  his  chair.  "Mr.  Jucklin,  I've 
stayed  too  long  already,  and  must  go." 

"Don't  you  do  it.  My  work's  putty  well  up  and 
I've  got  nothin'  to  (Jo  but  to  sit  here  and  talk. 
And  as  for  you— you  don't  need  to  look  at  a  watch 
nor  the  sun  when  it's  slantin'  toward  the  west.  They 
say  that  time  was  made  for  slaves,  and  if  you  ever  was 
a  slave  you  were  set  free  long  ago.  Sit  down— just  a 


14  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

minit.  I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  news  you  can  print  in 
your  paper." 

And  forcing  the  editor  to  sit  down,  he  continued:  "I 
reckon  you  hearn  of  what  happened  over  at  old  Groggin's. 
Well,  Groggin's  daughter,  Tilly,  as  likely  a  girl  as  you'd 
meet  in  a  day's  travel,  of  a  Sunday  when  folks  are  goin' 
to  church,  took  up  a  notion  that  she  was  in  love  with  a 
long,  lank  feller  that  come  down  the  river  on  a  raft  and 
stopped  at  Moseley's  place.  Now  whuther  or  not  the 
logs  belonged  to  him  don't  enter  into  the  story.  At 
any  rate,  he  sold  'em  and  the  first  thing  he  done  was  to 
give  a  dinner  in  the  woods,  and  the  most  urgent  invite 
was  sent  to  Tilly  Groggin.  He  had  seen  her  somewhere, 
no  matter  where,  and  so,  along  with  a  number  of  others, 
she  went.  And  it  was  a  barbecue,  mind  you.  They 
roasted  sheep  whole  and — wait  a  minit — and  ducks,  too; 
and  he  had  about  two  barrel  of  shell  oysters  that  were 
brought  in  right  fresh,  and  they  roasted  them  on  the  hot 
coals,  and— 

"But  what  happened?    I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"Happened?  You  jest  wait  a  minit.  By  the  time 
dinner  was  ready  everybody  was  haungry,  and  the  long, 
lank  feller,  he  takes  up  a  knife  about  as  long  as  a  scythe 
and  begins  to  carve  a  mutton,  and  the  brown  juice  began 
to  run  out  and " 

"Turn  me  loose,"  exclaimed  the  hungry  man.  "I've 
got  to  go,  I  tell  you." 

And  just  at  that  moment  old  Mrs.  Jucklin  appeared  at 
the  door. 


THE   COUNTRY   EDITOR'S   DINNER       15 

"Why,  howdy  do,  Colonel  Mowlett.  When  Limuel 
seen  you  a  comin'  he  told  me  not  to  have  dinner  till  he 
said  so,  and  I  don't  know  what  he  meant  by  it  unless  it 
was  one  of  his  own  sort  of  jokes,  but  as  you  must  be  hungry 
by  this  time  you'll  please  walk  out." 

The  Colonel  looked  at  Lim  and  the  old  man  shouted, 
and  the  old  lady  said:  "Limuel,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself." 


CHAPTER  III 
ROOSTER    FIGHT 

"THE  majority  of  men  that  I  know  look  forward  to 
the  time  when  they  are  not  to  take  any  pleasure  in  this 
life,"  said  old  Lim  Jucklin,  and  his  neighbours  who  were 
standing  about  the  horse  block  whereon  the  old  man 
had  just  taken  his  seat  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"I  don't  see  how  that  can  be,"  spoke  up  Sam  Niles, 
goat- whiskered,  squint-eyed,  and  a  liar  on  most  occasions, 
but,  like  most  liars,  the  inheritor  of  a  sort  of  engaging 
wisdom. 

Old  Lim  cleared  his  throat.  "And  the  reason  you 
can't  see  it,  Sammy,  is  because  you  are  morally  blind. 
The  average  man  looks  forward  to  the  time  when  he  won't 
have  to  work,  and  when  this  time  comes  he  almost  always 
finds  that  for  him  there  is  no  more  enjoyment.  Next  to 
the  enjoyment  of  work  itself,  we  get  the  most  pleasure  out 
of  rest  and " 

"And  when  we  rest  we  are  enjoyin'  ourselves,"  Sam 
broke  in. 

Old  Lim  nodded.  "Yes,  but  when  we  haven't  worked 
we  can't  rest,  for  rest  means  the  tuther  side  of  bein'  tired. 
After  climbin'  hard  to  reach  the  top  of  the  hill  we  take 
a  long  breath  and  it  is  as  sweet  as  spring  water,  and  the 

16 


ROOSTER  FIGHT  17 

reason  it  seems  so  deep  and  fetchin*  is  because  the  breaths 
comin'  up  the  hill  were  short.  But  if  we  set  down  on  the 
top  of  the  hill  and  stay  there  the  breaths  ain't  so  sweet. 
After  a  while  they  get  to  be  like  the  breaths  down  in  the 
valley.  To  make  'em  sweet  you've  got  to  climb  for  'em. 
In  this  life  all  the  way  through  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
get  any  real  good  out  of  a  thing  you  don't  work  for. 
That's  the  reason  the  gambler's  money  don't  amount  to 
anything.  It  hasn't  any  sweat  value.  And  even  if  he 
hadn't  done  anything  to  cause  him  to  be  driven  out, 
Adam  couldn't  have  stayed  much  longer  in  the  Garden  of 
Eden.  He  never  had  worked,  it  is  true,  and  he  didn't 
know  what  it  was,  but  the  fact  that  he  had  nothin'  to 
do  had,  accordin'  to  my  notion,  begun  to  make  him  wish 
that  Sunday  was  over  with.  I  reckon  Old  Miz  Eve  could 
have  stood  it  a  little  while  longer,  until  the  fall  of  the 
year,  when  the  leaves,  changin'  their  colour,  brought 
about  a  new  fashion,  and  that  would  have  held  her  a 
while  longer.  But  Adam  would  have  had  something  to  do 
if  she  had  given  him  a  leaf  and  told  him  to  go  out  and 
match  it  for  her.  Every  leaf  in  the  garden  might  have 
been  green,  all  of  an  exact  shade,  but  if  Adam  had  tried 
to  match  one  it  would  have  changed  colour  like  one  of 
these  here  lizards  they  fetch  from  Florida.  And  I  lay 
you  the  sweetest  meal  he  ever  eat  in  his  life  was  the 
first  bread  he  earned  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow.  It  has 
been  writ  that  man  was  made  to  mourn,  but  I've  noticed 
that  he  don't  mourn  so  much  when  he  is  at  work.  He 
starts  out  lookin'  for  a  place  where  he  can  ease  his  mind. 


18  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

He  never  finds  it,  but  when  at  work  he  seems  to  feel  that  he 
is  gettin'  there." 

"But  the  happiest  man  I  ever  saw  was  the  laziest," 
said  Sam,  and  the  old-timers  looked  at  one  another 
and  smiled,  for  no  matter  in  what  reverence  a  country 
oracle  is  held  the  ingrained  envy  of  his  neighbours  applaud 
the  threat  of  his  overthrow. 

"I'm  not  here  to  deny  truths,  but  to  bring  'em  out," 
replied  the  old  man.  "  I've  known  lazy  men  that  appeared 
to  enjoy  themselves  simply  because  they  wan't  at  work, 
and  I  can  go  a  little  further  and  say  that  the  happiest 
feller  I  ever  saw  was  an  idiot.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to 
jolt  himself  and  he  was  tickled  mighty  nigh  to  death. 
The  sight  of  a  dog  a  scratchin'  of  himself  was  better 
to  him  than  the  keen  joke  of  a  wise  man.  But 
when  I  spoke  of  the  average  man  I  meant  the  man 
with  a  mind." 

"But  one  of  the  smartest  men  I  ever  saw  was  lazy," 
said  Sam. 

"Yes,  that  may  be  a  fact,  and  some  of  the  plainest 
truths  have  been  told  by  a  liar,  but  the  liar  ain't  the  man 
that  fills  the  world  with  truth.  But  I  still  insist  that  I'm 
talkin'  about  the  average  man,  and  I  don't  think  the  average 
man  is  lazy.  The  brightest  minds  have  had  the  most 
beautiful  thoughts,  enjoyed  mebby  by  the  few,  but  it  is 
the  work  of  the  average  mind  that  has  built  up  civilisation. 
If  every  mind  had  been  as  great  as  Shakespeare's,  the 
world  would  have  been  a  whirlwind  of  ideas,  like  light' nin' 
bugs  in  a  swamp,  and  there  wouldn't  have  been  anybody 


ROOSTER  FIGHT  19 

to  stoop  low  enough  to  dig  food  out  of  the  ground.  There 
wouldn't  have  been  anything  to  learn,  and  the  universe 
would  have  been  a  great  mental  starvation.  There  is 
more  happiness  in  bein'  able  to  enjoy  the  wisdom  of  the 
wisest  than  to  be  the  wisest.  Wisdom  is  sometimes  a 
sort  of  saviour,  crucified  for  the  benefit  of  mankind.  A 
man  at  the  top  is  a  little  too  lonesome,  I  should  think,  and 
we'd  get  mighty  tired  havin'  to  look  down  all  the  time. 
In  my  blunderin'  way  I've  read  some  of  the  great  books, 
and  it  don't  seem  to  me  that  the  writers  of  them  were 
happy.  I  can  understand  that  a  new  and  surprisin' 
thought  shootin'  through  a  man's  mind  would  thrill  him 
to  his  marrow,  but  after  a  great  light  there  is  always 
darkness;  after  a  great  joy  a  correspondin'  sorrow.  And 
no  matter  how  many  big  words  a  man  may  have  he  feels 
things  that  he  can't  tell  about.  In  every  drop  of  our 
blood  there  is  a  thought  that  can't  be  expressed.  I  can't 
explain  the  feelin'  that  comes  over  me  when  I  see  two 
game  roosters  fight.  All  I  can  do  is  jest  to  open  my 
mouth  and  holler." 

A  lout  wearing  one  suspender,  a  hickory  shirt  and  a 
white  cotton  hat  came  up,  grinning,  and  with  an  air  of 
confidence  and  importance  such  as  nothing  save  the  con 
sciousness  of  a  momentous  mission  could  lend,  blurted 
out:  "Gentlemen,  ther's  goin'  to  be  a  transaction  in 
feathers  over  here  in  Atcherson's  stable.  It  has  been 
'lowed  that  a  little  red  rooster  from  up  the  creek  can  put 
outen  business  a  black  innimy  from  down  in  the  holler, 
and " 


20  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

But  he  had  said  enough.  Old  Lim  got  up  and  dusted 
the  seat  of  his  trousers.  Out  of  his  mouth  he  threw 
his  quid  of  tobacco,  as  if  he  had  been  invited  to  eat  of  some 
delicate  dish.  His  nature,  and  his  reading,  taken  up  long 
after  the  children  had  quit  school,  told  him  that  to  fight 
chickens  was  a  most  wanton  cruelty.  But  he  argued  that 
they  were  going  to  fight  anyway,  and  that  the  mere  fact  of 
his  looking  on  would  not  add  to  their  suffering.  Man 
suffered  for  man  and  it  was  called  heroism.  Man  killed 
chickens  and  devoured  them.  He  gave  them  no  chance 
for  their  lives.  To  be  a  conqueror  was  the  greatest  joy 
of  the  male  portion  of  the  animal  kingdom.  To  be  killed 
in  a  fight  did  not  render  the  chickens  unfit  for  food,  if 
anyone  wanted  to  eat  them,  and,  besides,  it  offered  an 
opportunity  to  die  game,  and  that  ought  to  be  looked  upon 
as  the  crowning  glory  of  any  life.  Old  'Squire  Brizintine 
looked  at  Lim.  They  belonged  to  the  same  church,  or  at 
least  formed  a  part  of  the  same  congregation,  having 
married  religious  women.  They  both  of  them  had  on 
many  an  occasion  announced  their  belief  in  the  book 
from  "eend  to  eend."  And  old  Brizintine  looked  at  him 
and  said: 

"Limuel,  is  it  possible  you  are  goin'  over  there  to  see 
them  roosters  fight?" 

"Well,  'Squire,  my  goin'  won't  make  'em  hit  none  the 
harder." 

"But  your  presence  will  lend  encouragement." 

"They  don't  need  no  encouragement,  'Squire.  They'll 
fight  quick  enough  as  it  is." 


ROOSTER  FIGHT  21 

"I  mean  that  it  will  lend  encouragement  to  the  young 
men  of  the  community." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  they  need  any  encouragement 
nuther.  And,  besides,  if  I  don't  go  myself  I  won't  know 
which  ones  of  them  to  lecture  for  goin'." 

"Ah,"  said  'Squire  Brizintine,  "that  is  another  view  of 
the  matter.  I'll  go  with  you." 

While  they  were  arming  the  warriors  with  glistening 
steel,  Sam  Niles  cried  out  that  he  would  put  his  money 
on  the  little  red. 

"Which  one  would  you  bet  on,  Uncle  Lim?"  inquired 
Pud  Buck. 

"Pud,  you  know  I  never  bet." 

"But  if  you  did  bet,  which  one?" 

"There  ain't  no  possibility  of  such  a  thing." 

"Well,  then,  in  your  jedgment — and  I  know  it's  good — 
which  one  do  you  think  will  whup?" 

"The  black  one,"  said  Lim,  and  on  that  chicken  Pud 
put  his  money. 

"Limuel,"  remarked  'Squire  Brizintine,  "  nothin' could 
induce  us  to  bet  on  such  wicked  contrivances,  but  I  think 
your  jedgment  is  at  fault.  The  little  red  will  be  the 
master." 

"Well,"  Lim  replied,  "money  shouts  louder  and  can  be 
hearn  furder  than  words — but  then,  we  don't  bet." 

"Limuel,  that  is  a  truth  well  uttered.  But  I  tell  you 
what  I'll  do:  If  that  black  chicken  whups  the  red  one 
I'll  come  over  and  work  a  day  in  your  corn  field.  That 
is,  if  you  agree  to  work  for  me  if  tuther  one  whups." 


22  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"I'll  agree  to  that,  'Squire,  but  I  want  it  understood 
that  we  ain't  a  bettin'." 

"  Of  course  not.  Why,  if  Brother  Haney,  the  preacher, 
should  think  we'd  bet — but  we  wouldn't.  However, 
we  don't  mind  workin'  for  each  other." 

"Bein's  as  we  are  neighbours  and  have  been  for  nigh 
on  to  fifty  year,"  said  Lim. 

"Exactly,  Limuel.     I  may  safely  say  exactly." 

The  roosters  were  put  into  the  "pit."  Glossy  embodi 
ments  of  desperate  valour,  their  eyes  burned  like  coals. 
About  their  necks  their  feathers  curled  in  a  fringe.  And 
then  they  struck.  From  Little  Red  a  feather  flew,  catch 
ing  a  ray  of  sunlight,  a  brilliant  fancy  from  an  angered 
mind;  and  they  struck  again  and  Black  went  down, 

bleeding  from  the  head.  "One,  two,  three,  four "  but 

up  he  came  with  a  defiant  crow.  "  Git  him  down,  old  boy," 
shouted  Lim.  "Undercut  there.  They  have  left  his  wattles 
long.  Bill  him  there  and  finish  him.  Love  me,  love  me, 
Black.  Keep  me  out  of  the  hot  sun.  Don't  let  'em  say  my 
judgment  was  bad.  Look  out  for  them  sort  of  swipes.  Steady 
there.  Hike,  look  out.  Hold  on,  hold  on.  He's  dead." 

Victorious  Red  flapped  his  wings.  "Limuel,"  said 
'Squire  Brizintine,  "come  over  day  after  to-morrow  and 
see  me.  You'll  find  me  in  the  creek  bottom  field." 

Old  Lim  wiped  his  brow.  "Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "I 
took  that  chicken  simply  because  Sam  Niles  backed 
tuther  one.  Many  a  wise  man  has  done  a  fool  thing 
simply  because  a  fool  got  to  the  smart  thing  first.  'Squire, 
I'll  see  you  day  after  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  IV 
ON   MARRIAGE 

FROM  the  old  log  meeting  house  arose  a  chant,  sweet 
echo  of  a  determined  past,  the  music  history  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  fortitude.  The  preacher  had  not  yet  arrived. 
Beneath  the  trees  sat  the  wise  men  of  the  community;  and 
when  old  Lim  Jucklin  got  out  of  his  wagon,  conducted 
his  wife  to  the  door  and  came  walking  back  with  his  hands 
behind  him,  a  young  fellow  well  trained  in  manners  arose 
to  give  the  chicken-fighting  oracle  a  seat.  He  sat  down, 
with  his  back  against  a  tree,  put  his  hat  on  the  ground 
beside  him,  uttered  the  necessary  commonplaces  incident 
upon  meeting  his  friends,  saw  a  needed  rain  coming 
within  two  days,  and  then  after  a  short  silence  remarked: 
"I  see  that  a  jedge  over  at  Raleigh  in  grantin'  a  divorce 
says  there  don't  appear  to  be  any  doubt  of  the  fact  that 
marriage  is  a  failure.  From  time  to  time  within  the  past 
few  years  I  have  hearn  somethin'  about  this  here  failure  on 
the  part  of  marriage,  but  never  put  my  mind  down  on  it 
till  one  of  our  own  jedges  rendered  his  decision  in  the 
matter." 

Then  'Squire  Brizintine  spoke  up.  "And  does  it 
seem  to  you,  Limuel,  that  he  has  got  anywhere  close  down 
to  the  truth?" 

23 


24  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

Out  of  Ills  hat  the  old  man  took  his  red  bandanna 
handkerchief,  wiped  his  brow  and,  spreading  the  hand 
kerchief  across  his  knees,  replied  that  it  was  a  matter 
that  needed  some  little  investigation.  "Take  the  case  of 
little  Sammy  Peel,"  said  he.  "Married  the  widder 
Buntin,  that  weighs  two  hundred  and  ninety.  Don't 
appear  to  have  been  a  failure  in  his  case."  The  boys 
laughed  and  'Squire  Brizintine  blew  his  nose  with  a  loud 
snort,  for  it  was  known  that  not  long  after  the  death  of  his 
wife  he  had  paid  court  to  the  widow.  "It  is  a  question," 
old  Lim  continued,  "that  is  a  aggitatin'  of  society,  and 
has  been  I  reckon  since  the  Lord  first  flung  open  the  front 
door  of  time.  And  it  is  a  subject  that  so  many  folks  are 
related  to  one  way  or  another  that  it  sorter  makes  a  feller 
feel  sad  to  think  about  the  opinion  of  the  jedge  over  at 
Raleigh.  But  the  only  way  to  find  out  whether  or  not 
a  thing  is  true  is  to  start  an  aggitation  and  keep  it 
a  goin'.  There  are  thousands  of  men  that  stand 
ready  to  come  forward  and  swear  that  human  life  itself 
is  a  failure,  and  has  been  ever  since  old  Noah  drank 
too  much  of  his  own  wine.  There  is  a  way  to  look 
at  everything  and  make  it  a  failure.  The  gospel  itself  is 
only  a  success  in  spots.  And  I  reckon  it's  putty  much 
that  way  with  marriage.  If  the  right  spots  ain't  found  it 
ain't  the  fault  of  the  institution  of  marriage,  but  is  error 
in  the  jedgment  of  man." 

"But  how  about  the  jedgment  of  woman?"  'Squire 
Brizintine  put  in,  and  the  boys  smiled,  for  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  it  was  well  known  that  the  'Squire  and  his  wife 


ON  MARRIAGE  25 

had  with  their  dissensions  awakened  the  echoes  of  many 
a  dark  night. 

Old  Lim  sat  smoothing  his  handkerchief  across  his  knees. 
"Well,"  said  he,  "with  woman  the  question  of  marriage 
comes  up  before  she  has  jedgment  enough  to  make  a 
good  decision.  We  know  that  at  twenty  a  boy  is  nothin' 
but  a  boy,  but  we  expect  a  girl  at  that  age  to  be  ripe  enough 
to  take  charge  of  a  household.  At  twenty  I  had  jest 
about  sense  enough  to  take  a  rabbit  out  of  a  trap.  Didn't 
have  enough  to  keep  out  of  a  trap  myself.  We  talk  about 
many  virtues,  but,  after  all,  looks,  eyes,  smiles  and  hair 
are  the  main  points  to  be  considered  in  the  question  of 
marriage,  and  as  these  things  appeal  more  to  woman  than 
to  man,  she  is  in  the  way  to  make  more  mistakes.  Com 
mon  sense  ought  to  tell  women  that  good-lookin'  men 
don't  make  the  best  husbands;  but  that's  where  the 
trouble  lies — the  lack  of  common  sense.  A  curl  hangin' 
low  over  a  forehead  and  a  sort  of  tune  to  a  laugh  count 
more  with  the  average  girl  than  the  multiplication  table. 
And  there  may  be  more  of  showy  love  in  the  curl,  but  it 
won't  build  as  many  fires  in  the  kitchen  stove.  Any 
feller  smiles  when  he  goes  a  courtin',  but  the  feller  that  is 
most  useful  to  a  community  and  at  home  is  the  one  that 
smiles  some  when  he's  at  work.  The  happiest  time  of 
a  girl's  life  is  when  she  is  engaged,  for  then  she  has  the 
dazzlin'  promise  of  somethin'  that  ain't  likely  to  be  ful 
filled.  The  hero  that  she  is  goin'  to  marry  giggles  and 
titters  like  June  water  a  babblin'  down  over  moss-kiveredl 
rocks,  but  if  weighed  and  put  up  for  sale  in  the  market 


26  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

of  common  sense  he  wouldn't  fetch  as  much  as  a  side  of 
bacon.  The  trouble  is  she  takes  him  on  looks,  and  he 
takes  her  the  same  way,  and  after  they  have  been  married 
a  while  they  find  that  their  minds  are  total  strangers." 

"But  how  would  you  remedy  it?"  someone  inquired. 

"I  can't  remedy  it — and  I  wouldn't.  It  would  be  an 
interference  with  natur'.  In  the  days  of  old  it  was 
thought,  and  it  is  still  alive  in  the  minds  of  smart  men, 
that  a  good  big  part  of  the  human  family  was  born  to  be 
damned,  and  I  reckon  it  was  intended  that  a  certain 
number  of  marriages  were  intended  to  be  failures.  And 
marriage  is  more  of  a  failure  now  than  ever  before  because 
there  are  more  people  to  get  married.  The  more  folks 
the  more  misery.  If  a  man  and  a  woman  do  the  best  they 
can  and  their  marriage  turns  out  bad  it  can't  be  helped. 
Divorce  is  a  blight  on  society,  it  is  true,  but  to  live  with 
somebody  that  ain't  suited  to  you  is  a  blight  on  the  mind 
and  the  heart.  We  may  have  a  good  many  lives  to  live; 
of  that  we  can't  tell,  but  we  do  know  of  one  and  when  that 
one  is  ruined,  why  we  are  in  what  the  black  bear  said 
to  the  trap — a — well,  you  know  what  sort  of  a  fix.  All 
the  wisdom  now  known  to  man  might  be  poured  out  on 
marriage  and  wouldn't  help  it  much.  I  know  it's  called 
high  morality  to  talk  against  divorces,  and  divorces  do 
show  a  loose  state  of  affairs,  but  what's  to  be  done? 
Divorce  is  most  scandalous  to  them  that  don't  want  it. 
Two  enemies  livin*  together  ain't  likely  to  have  writ  in 
their  hearts,  'God  bless  our  home,'  and  a  home  that  the 
Lord  don't  bless  ain't  a  comfortable  seat  for  society 


ON  MARRIAGE  27 

"I  knew  of  a  high-spirited  feller  that  married  a  tight- 
strung  woman  over  in  the  hills  of  Tennessee.  And  it 
wan't  long  till  they  fell  out.  She  called  him  a  liar  and  he 
swore  that  she  never  had  uttered  a  truth,  and  that  was 
goin'  fur,  considerin'  of  the  fact  that  she  talked  a  good 
deal.  I  think  she  flung  somethin'  at  him,  a  butcher 
knife,  mebby;  and  he  'lows,  'If  you  were  a  man  I'd  know 
how  to  treat  you.  I'd  challenge  you  to  fight  a  duel.' 
'Well  don't  let  the  fact  that  I'm  a  woman  stand  in  your 
way/  she  spoke  up.  'I'm  as  good  a  shot  as  you  are,  and 
if  you  want  to  settle  it  on  that  basis  I'm  your  man.'  So 
they  agreed  to  fight.  They  did.  She  shot  him  in  the 
shoulder.  He  declared  that  he  was  satisfied,  and  she 
'lowed  that  she  didn't  have  nothin'  to  complain  of.  Then 
she  yoked  up  the  steers,  hauled  him  to  the  house,  nursed 
him  till  he  got  well;  and  ever  afterward  they  lived  as  happy 
as  two  doves.  It  seems  to  me  that  one  of  the  reasons 
why  there  are  more  divorces  now  is  on  account  of  the  fact 
that  children  have  gone  out  of  fashion.  Men  and  women 
are  shirkin'  the  responsibility  of  a  family  and  that  develops 
a  weakness  of  character.  I  have  seen  many  a  man  burdened 
with  a  big  family,  but  I  never  saw  one  that  wan't  more 
to  be  envied  than  the  man  that  had  no  children  at  all. 
There  ain't  in  this  life  nothin'  more  to  be  deplored  than 
a  childless  old  age.  I'd  ruther  be  a  haungry  dog  shut 
up  in  a  church.  More  men  have  been  saved  by  their 
children  than  by  all  the  moral  lessons  ever  printed.  And 
women — well,  a  woman  that  tells  you  she  don't  like  chil 
dren,  and  then  proves  it  by  her  acts,  may  blaze  with 


28  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

beauty  and  raise  more  money  for  the  furriners  than  any 
body,  but  in  my  opinion  she  ain't  as  much  to  be  admired 
as  a  dish  of  sour  milk  skimmed  three  times.  Last  summer 
a  woman  came  from  town  out  here,  and  when  I  saw  her 
pullin'  of  her  skirts  back  every  time  a  child  came  near  her 
I  said  to  myself  that  she  must  be  powerful  neat,  but  when 
I  saw  her  kiss  a  bull  pup  I  'lowed  to  myself  I'd  ruther 
it  was  the  pup  than  me.  Well,  some  things  can't  be 
helped.  Man  started  off  wrong  some  time  ago,  and  has 
been  goin'  faster  and  faster  ever  since,  it  seems  like.  But 
an  old  detective  in  Chicago  told  me  that  his  experience 
proved  to  him  that  ninety  per  cent,  of  men  were  honest. 
I  asked  him  if  his  town  wan't  made  up  mostly  of  the  other 
ten  per  cent.  He  didn't  say  nothin'  more  and  I  didn't 
apologise.  Yes,  we  are  on  the  slant,  but  youngsters 
that  are  toddlin'  now  will  in  the  years  to  come,  when  they 
are  walkin'  stiff  in  the  j'ints,  look  back  at  these,  the  good 
old  times — Here  comes  the  preacher.  Let's  go  in,  boys." 


CHAPTER  V 
ON  HELL 

IT  was  a  mellow  day  for  such  a  sermon.  The  year 
was  fulfilling  all  of  the  promises  made  in  early  spring. 
In  the  woods  there  was  a  blaze  of  red,  the  ripe  juices 
of  autumn,  and  in  the  air  there  was  that  melancholy 
sweetness  that  makes  a  man  think,  that  makes  him  look 
upon  his  neighbour  as  his  brother.  On  a  bench  not  far 
from  the  pulpit  old  Lim  Jucklin  sat,  determined  to  sur 
render  himself  to  the  influences  of  the  sermon.  During 
the  week  just  ended  human  nature  had  not  been  over- 
strong  in  him.  He  had  told  one  man  that  the  only  truth 
about  him  was  the  truth  that  he  was  a  liar,  had  swapped 
horses  with  a  chicken  peddler  and  was  glad  now  that  he 
had  not  succeeded  in  overtaking  him  afterward;  he  had 
trapped  a  few  quails  out  of  season,  but  had  sent  the  most 
of  them  to  the  sick— had  done  a  few  other  things  not 
strictly  in  line,  such  as  halting  for  a  few  moments  at  a 
livery  stable  to  see  two  dogs  fight;  but  now  as  he  sat  ready 
to  listen  to  the  word  he  knew  that  down  in  his  heart  he 
hated  no  man. 

The  old  minister  arose  and  gave  out  the  hymn,  militant 
verses  written  by  some  ancient  fighter,  and  then  looked 
with  a  scowl  at  the  empty  benches  at  the  rear  end  of  the 

29 


30  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

room.  Old  Dock  Hency  cleared  his  throat  and  settled 
himself  down  and  Sister  Buckworth,  repository  of  every 
neighbourhood  scandal  for  more  than  two  generations, 
smacked  her  mouth,  for  she  felt  that  this  was  to  be  an 
occasion  for  what  the  rude  slangists  called  "hot  stuff." 
And  it  was.  The  preacher  tiptoed  in  his  wrath  against 
the  world.  Never  before  had  that  broad  boulevard  lead 
ing  to  destructions  been  so  frightfully  crowded.  It  did 
not  seem  that  there  was  a  possible  show  for  anyone  to  be 
saved.  And  it  was  not  a  figurative  hell  that  the  preacher 
painted,  but  a  great  pit  roaring  with  flames.  Into  the 
house  he  so  strongly  brought  the  smell  of  sulphur  that  a  boy 
sneezed,  and  a  little  girl,  shuddering  in  fright,  crept  closer 
to  her  mother.  Old  Peter  Balch,  shaver  of  notes  and 
holder  of  mortgages  on  the  homes  of  widows,  cried  out 
"Amen,"  and  a  mule  that  had  been  tied  to  a  swinging  limb 
broke  loose  and  tore  off  down  the  road. 

When  the  sermon  was  done  Limuel  waited  for  an  oppor 
tunity  to  speak  to  the  preacher.  "Just  want  to  talk  to 
you  a  few  moments,"  he  said.  "No  hurry.  Wait  till 
you  shake  hands  with  all  these  folks  that  are  crowdin' 
one  another  on  the  road  to  distruction." 

The  preacher  held  forth  his  hand  and  Jucklin  took  it, 
holding  it  for  a  moment,  looking  him  in  the  eye.  "I 
want  to  talk  to  you  privately.  Would  you  mind  goin' 
out  here  and  settin'  on  a  log  with  me?" 

The  minister  smiled.  "Limuel,"  said  he,  "are  you 
at  last  about  to  ask  for  terms?  Has  the  light  fallen  on 
you?" 


ON  HELL  31 

6'  Well,  I  don't  know  but  I  am  a  little  scorched.  You 
women  folks  go  on  home  and  I'll  overtake  you." 

"Shall  we  have  witnesses  as  to  what  you  are  going  to 
say?"  the  preacher  inquired. 

"No,  I'd  rather  talk  to  you  alone  out  there  where  the 
wild  grapes  are  purple  in  the  sun." 

"Limuel,  I  thank  you  for  this  long-sought  opportunity. 
Come." 

They  went  out  into  the  woods  and  sat  down  on  a  log. 
A  gray  squirrel  peeped  at  them.  "Limuel,  is  it  about 
my  sermon  that  you  wish  to  talk?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  cutting  off  a  chew  of  his 
twist. 

"I  am  glad  that  it  struck  home." 

"Ah,  hah.  Glad,  I  reckon,  that  it  scared  that  little 
girl.  Wait  a  moment.  I  have  listened  to  you,  so  now 
you  listen  to  me  a  while."  He  slowly  wiped  his  knife 
on  his  trousers,  snapped  it  and  put  it  into  his  pocket. 
"As  I  sat  in  yonder  just  now,  brother,  I  could  hardly 
believe  that  I  wa'n't  away  back  where  the  world  was 
when  I  found  it — just  ripe  for  destruction.  The  first 
picture  that  was  drawed  for  me  was  of  little  children  in 
torment,  and  I  went  to  bed  and  cried  nearly  all  night 
because  I  felt  that  nothin'  was  of  any  use.  My  poor  mother 
was  scared  and  my  father  was  afraid  to  say  much,  for  there 
was  the  preacher  ready  to  snatch  away  any  encourage 
ment.  We  had  all  of  us  been  condemned  from  the  first  and 
unless  we  did  an  impossible  task  there  was  no  hope.  But 
as  I  grew  older  the  world  appeared  to  get  better.  The 


32  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

rocks  in  the  graveyards  said  that  the  dead  folks  were  all 
right.  Humanity  had  done  away  with  imprisonment  for 
debt.  The  slave  ships  were  all  sunk.  People  were 
better  fed  and  better  clothed.  Books  filled  up  the  empty 
shelves  in  the  country.  Newspapers  with  their  white 
wings  flew  everywhere.  And  all  this  time  hell  was  a 
coolin'  off.  It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  almost  ready  for 
irrigation  till  you  turned  loose  to-day.  What  made  you 
do  it  ?  Don't  answer  me  now — jest  let  me  talk — but  what 
made  you  do  it?  Don't  you  know  that  God  is  gettin* 
so  good  that  some  of  the  churches  have  to  meet  every 
once  in  a  while  to  acknowledge  it  ?  Don't  you  know  that 
after  all  it  is  love  and  not  fear  that  moves  this  old  world  ? 
You  sing  '  Oh,  for  a  closer  walk  with  God/  and  you  make 
such  a  thing  impossible.  You  make  Him  a  destroyer 
instead  of  a  builder.  You  would  take  away  the  softness 
and  the  holy  sweetness  of  the  Saviour,  and  when  that's 
done,  all  is  done  that  can  be  done  for  evil.  Instead  of  a 
great  book  of  wisdom  you  make  the  Bible  a  threat,  backed 
up  by  the  devil.  You  would  have  the  people  read  it  with 
frightened  eyes,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  that  when  a  man's 
scared  he  can't  learn  anything  to  speak  of.  The  people 
are  growin'  all  the  time,  and  so  is  the  Church,  but  some 
of  you  preachers  want  to  pull  back.  Do  you  know  why 
all  over  the  country  there  is  a  disposition  to  put  out  the 
old  preachers  and  to  take  in  the  young  ones?  It  is 
because  the  young  men  are  more  liberal.  They 
are  not  so  set  in  creed  and  therefore  they  are  kinder 
hearted." 


ON  HELL  33 

"  Jucklin,  it  is  not  for  you  to  talk  like  this.  You  would 
have  me  tried  for  heresy." 

"Brother,  where  one  man  is  tried  for  heresy  twenty 
are  dropped  for  narrowness.  Put  that  in  your  pipe  and 
smoke  it  a  while." 

"I   don't  smoke,   sir." 

"  But  you  would  have  everybody  else  smoke.  Did  you 
see  that  little  girl  clinging  to  her  mother?  It  will  take 
a  long  time  to  get  that  awful  picture  out  of  her  mind. 
And  maybe  by  the  time  that  one  is  wiped  out  you'll  be 
ready  with  another  one;  and  when  she  grows  up  and  glances 
about  her  in  the  light  of  pure  truth  she  will  look  back  and 
pity  your  ignorance." 

"Jucklin,  I  know  one  man  whom  the  devil  is  waiting 
for." 

"Accordin'  to  your  story  he's  waitin'  for  every 
man." 

"But  he  is  waiting  for  one  in  particular." 

"If  you  mean  me  let  me  correct  you  a  little.  He 
can't  get  me,  for  I  believe  the  Saviour  when  he  said  he 
died  to  save  sinners." 

"You  do  not  believe  the  Saviour;  you  have  denied 
him." 

"No,  brother,  I  have  denied  you — and  the  devil.  Now 
let  me  tell  you  what  to  do:  Come  over  to  my  house  and 
get  some  of  the  books  that  my  son  has  sent  to  me.  They'll 
do  you  good." 

"Tracts  issued  by  Satan,  and  you'll  find  it  out  one  of 
these  days.  Jucklin,  I  thought  you  wanted  to  talk  about 


34  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

the  welfare  of  your  soul,  and  here  you  are  scoffing  at  the 
Gospel." 

" Oh, no, I'm  not  scoffin' at  love;  and  the  Gospel  is  love — 
the  sweetest  message  of  love  that  was  ever  breathed  upon 
a  helpless  world.  And  it  seems  strange  that  at  this  late 
day  some  of  you  haven't  found  it  out.  I  believe  I  heam 
you  say  once  that  the  printing  press  was  keepin*  folks 
from  goin'  to  church,  and  you  called  it  the  agent  of  the 
devil.  You  didn't  stop  to  recollect  that  unless  the  Bible 
had  been  printed  you  never  would  have  had  one.  But 
go  ahead,  preachin'  your  doctrine  of  hate  and  the  first 
thing  you  know  you'll  be  out  of  a  job.  You  can't  convince 
a  thinkin'  man  that  the  world — which  is  just  as  much 
God's  now  as  it  ever  was — is  worse  off  than  it  used  to  be. 
There  are  more  flowers  to-day  than  the  world  ever  saw 
before.  There  are  more  human  hearts  and  therefore  more 
human  love.  God — wisdom — is  comin'  closer;  and  the 
devil — ignorance — is  goin'  further  away.  You  frown  at 
empty  benches,  but  after  a  while  you  won't  have  even  a 
bench.  And  about  that  time  you'll  see  happy  people 
comin'  out  of  a  new  church.  That's  about  all  I've  got 
to  say." 

"  Jucklin,  you  are  going  to  hell." 

"Well,  not  before  I  get  a  bite  to  eat,  I  hope.  Good- 
day." 


CHAPTER  VI 
ON  FIEST   LOVE 

"AND  so  you  are  Cal  Atterson's  boy,"  said  Lim  Jucklin 
as  he  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  the  grocery  store.  "My, 
how  you  young  chaps  come  on.  And  you?  Ab  Sar- 
ver's  youngest,  eh?  Hasn't  seemed  more  than  a  week 
since  I  saw  you  riding  a  stick  horse  and  here  you  are  big 
enough  to  make  love  to  the  girls. 

"Don't  make  love  to  'em?  Go  on  with  you.  I'll 
bet  your  heart  has  been  wrung  and  hung  out  to  dry  more 
than  once.  When  I  was  about  your  age  I  fell  sick  along 
about  tobacco-cutting  time,  and  I  didn't  think  I  was  ever 
goin'  to  get  well.  The  cause  of  my  sickness  was  a  young 
gal  that  came  into  the  neighbourhood  to  visit  her  uncle. 
I  haven't  time  now  to  tell  you  how  beautiful  I  thought  she 
was.  I  didn't  believe  she  belonged  on  the  ground  at  all — 
just  touched  it  now  and  then  to  accommodate  the  earth, 
you  know.  She  flew  down  from  a  cloud  that  the  sun  was 
a  shinin'  on  and  didn't  care  to  go  back.  Recollect  how 
astonished  I  was  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  her  eat.  I 
thought  she  just  naturally  sucked  the  honey  out  of  the 
honeysuckle  along  with  the  hummin'  birds,  and  when  I 
saw  her  worryin'  with  an  ear  of  boiled  corn  big  enough 
to  scare  a  two-year-old  calf  I  went  out  and  leaned  against 

35 


36  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

the  fence.  But  it  didn't  hurt  my  love  any.  I  thought 
she  did  it  just  to  show  that  she  might  possibly  be  a  human 
being.  She  didn't  want  us  all  to  feel  bad.  One  night 
I  groaned  so  that  mother  came  to  me  and  wanted  to  put 
mustard  plasters  on  me.  She  'lowed  that  mebby  she 
might  draw  out  the  inflammation.  She  thought  I  had 
somethin'  the  matter  with  my  stomach  because  I  had  lost 
my  appetite.  I  told  her  that  I  had  an  inflammation  she 
couldn't  draw  out  with  a  yoke  of  steers.  Then  she  thought 
I  ought  to  have  an  emetic.  I  said  that  if  she  had  one  that 
would  make  me  throw  up  my  soul  she  might  fetch  it  along, 
but  otherwise  it  would  be  as  useless  as  saying  mew  to  a 
dead  cat.  Then  she  thought  I  must  be  crazy  and  came 
mighty  nigh  hittin'  the  mark,  I  tell  you. 

"A  few  days  afterward,  about  the  time  I  was  at  the 
height  of  my  fever,  I  met  the  girl  in  the  road  and  she 
smiled  at  me,  and  I  ran  against  a  beech  tree  and  if  I 
didn't  knock  the  bark  off  I'm  the  biggest  liar  in  the  world. 
When  I  came  to  I  had  my  arm  around  a  sheep,  a  walkin' 
across  the  woods  pasture. 

"My,  my,  what  a  time  that  was  to  live.  The  sun  had 
just  riz  for  the  first  time  and  they  had  just  called  up  the 
birds  to  give  out  the  songs  to  them.  They  wan't  quite  done 
settin'  the  stars  out  in  the  sky,  and  they  hadn't  put  more 
than  one  coat  of  whitewash  on  the  moon.  Music — it 
wa'n't  there  till  she  came,  and  the  orchards  bloomed  as 
she  walked  along  down  the  lane.  But  she  didn't  appear 
to  know  it,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  marvelled  at  such 
ignorance. 


ON  FIRST  LOVE  37 

"I  didn't  have  the  courage  to  go  straight  up  to  her,  and 
one  night  at  meetin',  when  I  was  feastin'  my  soul  with 
merely  lookin'  at  her,  up  walked  a  feller  and  asked  if  he 
might  take  her  home.  I  looked  at  him,  quick-like,  ex- 
pectin'  to  see  him  drop  dead,  but  he  didn't.  Then  I 
waited  for  the  light'nin'  to  strike  him,  but  it  didn't.  Then 
I  waited  for  her  to  kill  him  with  a  look,  but  she  didn't. 
She  smiled  and  said  yes.  Then  I  sneaked  outside  and 
whetted  my  knife  on  my  boot.  There  wa'n't  power 
enough  on  earth  to  keep  me  from  bathin'  my  hands  in  his 
blood.  Mother  saw  that  there  was  somethin'  wrong 
with  me  and  she  came  out  and  asked  me  if  I  was  sick. 
I  told  her  I  was  a  dyin',  but  before  I  bid  farewell  to  the 
earth  I  was  goin'  to  cut  a  scoundrel  into  strips  and  feed 
him  to  the  dogs.  But  pap  he  came  and  took  the  knife 
away  from  me  and  said  if  he  heard  any  more  such  talk 
he'd  tan  my  hide  till  it  was  fitten  for  shoestrings.  I 
don't  know  how  I  got  home  that  night,  but  after  a  long 
time  I  found  myself  a  smotherin'  in  bed.  There  was 
a  well  in  the  yard  and  I  thought  I'd  slip  out  and  drown 
myself.  Just  then  I  heard  a  rooster  crow,  and  recollectin' 
that  there  was  to  be  a  fight  over  across  the  creek  within 
a  few  days,  I  decided  that  mebby  I  still  had  somethin'  to 
live  for. 

"But  I  didn't  give  up  my  idea  of  vengeance  on  that 
feller,  and  one  day  I  met  him  as  I  was  comin'  along  the 
road.  I  'lowed  that  before  I  knocked  him  down  it  would 
be  well  to  inform  him  as  to  how  he  stood  in  my  opinion, 
and  I  started  out  and  I  don't  know  what  I  might  have 


38  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

said  if  he  had  given  me  a  chance.  But  he  didn't.  He 
didn't  appear  to  think  that  there  were  stars  enough,  so  he 
began  to  knock  them  out  of  my  eyes  and  I  saw  some  of 
them  as  they  sailed  away.  Among  them  was  a  comet  with 
a  tail  about  as  long  as  a  well  chain.  When  I  came  to 
a  muley  cow  was  ringin'  her  bell  over  my  head.  I  propped 
my  eyes  open  till  I  could  get  home,  and  then  they  covered 
me  with  fresh  meat  and  left  me  to  think  over  the  situation. 

"It  was  no  laughin'  matter,  boys,  I'll  tell  you  that. 
The  next  day  the  girl  came  over.  She  said  that  she  heard 
that  a  bull  had  met  me  and  disagreed  with  me.  What 
a  lie  that  fellow  had  told  her;  and  she  insisted  on  seein' 
me.  She  came  into  the  room  and  I  looked  at  her  through 
a  hole  in  a  beefsteak.  She  laughed.  Oh,  I  don't  blame 
her  now,  you  understand,  but  just  at  that  moment  my 
love  stubbed  its  toe  and  fell,  and  fell  hard,  I  want  to  re 
mark.  She  said  she  was  awful  sorry  for  me  and  I  said 
she  acted  like  it. 

"I  tell  you  love  can't  stand  much  laughin'  at.  It's 
the  tenderest  plant  that  ever  peeped  out  of  the  soft  lap 
of  creation,  and  in  laughter  if  there  is  no  sympathy  there's 
frost.  When  a  feller  stops  lovin'  he  sees  more  than  he 
did  before  and  yet  he  is  blinder.  He  sees  more  in  other 
folks,  but  sees  that  they  ain't  like  the  one  he  loved.  And 
the  reason  that  so  few  people  marry  first  love  is  because 
that  sort  of  love  takes  hold  as  if  it  wanted  to  kill.  Don't 
appear  that  anything  else  will  satisfy  it.  There's  no  use 
tryin'  to  dodge  it,  boys;  a  thief  in  the  night  can't  slip  up 
on  you  half  so  sly.  •  It  is  the  oldest  thing  in  the  world,  but 


ON  FIRST  LOVE  39 

it  is  so  new  that  nobody  knows  yet  how  to  handle  it.  It 
makes  ignorance  as  wise  as  a  god  and  hangs  a  lamp  with 
perfumed  oil  where  darkness  always  fell  before.  A  good 
many  of  the  old  chaps  make  fun  of  it,  but  when  they  do 
you  may  know  that  they  ain't  nothin'  but  money  getters, 
and  that  marks  the  death  of  the  soul.  Does  me  good 
to  look  at  you  young  fellers;  I  like  to  think  of  the  sweet 
misery  you've  got  to  go  through  with.  Oh,  yes,  there's 
more  than  one  love.  It's  like  the  rheumatism.  One 
attack  may  be  worse  than  the  others,  but  i'/s  all  rheumatism 
just  the  same,  and  no  matter  how  light  you've  got  it  you 
know  when  it's  ftierc.  So  you  are  Ab  Sarver's  boy.  What's 
your  pap  doin'  to-day?" 

"Arguin'  politics  with  a  feller  when  I  left  home." 

"Well,  he  was  always  a  mighty  hand  to  argue.  I 
haven't  seen  him  in  a  long  time.  It's  a  good  ways  to  your 
house,  ain't  it?" 

"About    ten    miles." 

"Yes,  and  the  miles  get  longer  and  the  days  shorter 
as  we  grow  older.  But  no  matter  how  old  we  get,  if  the 
heart  remains  sound,  we  never  forget  that  rheumatism 
I  told  you  about.  I  wouldn't  give  the  memory  of  it  for 
hardly  anything  in  the  world.  One  of  these  days  you  will 
see  her  comin'  down  the  road,  a  makin'  the  orchards  bloom 
as  she  passes  along,  and  you'll  wonder  how  you  can  live 
another  minit,  and  you'll  wish  yourself  dead  just  to  make 
her  feel  bad.  If  she  laughs  at  anything  anyone  else  says 
it  will  send  a  knife  blade  through  your  heart,  and  if  she 
sighs  you'll  think  it's  over  some  other  feller.  There'll 


40  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

be  no  such  thing  as  pleasin'  you,  but  I'd  rather  have  it 
in  store  for  me  than  a  mountain  range  made  of  gold. 
Well,  boys,  it's  about  time  I  was  a  goin'  on  home.  There's 
a  woman  there  that  I  fell  in  love  with  years  ago,  and  I 
haven't  fallen  out  with  her  yet. 

"So  you  are  Ab  Sarver's  boy.  You  make  me  think, 
my  son.  It  was  your  daddy  that  told  the  girl  I  had  met 
a  bull,  and  it  was  your  mammy  that  made  the  orchards 
bloom." 


CHAPTER  VII 
ON  BOOKS 

THE  neighbourhood  sale,  held  at  an  old  homestead, 
brings  out  the  importance  and  the  force  of  the  man  who 
has  been  thrifty  and  who  has  ready  money  at  command.  It 
is  a  sad  picture — the  passing  of  the  farm,  the  disintegra 
tion  of  a  family,  the  blighting  of  a  thousand  memories  that 
cluster  about  a  hearthstone.  At  such  a  time  the  squeaky 
voice  of  ready  money  becomes  thunderous  in  tone,  awing 
the  modest  aspiration  of  a  neighbour  who  looks  toward 
the  purchase  of  a  yoke  of  cattle,  a  wagon,  a  colt;  and 
when  ready  money  seems  determined  the  promissory  notes 
of  the  modest  fall  back  into  tameness  and  silence.  But 
ready  money  does  not  care  to  acquire  everything  at  a 
neighbourhood  sale.  Being  material  it  looks  to  material 
things,  and  its  estimate  of  the  spiritual  is  but  shallow, 
so,  when  at  the  Groggin  sale  Lim  Jucklin  outbid  Stoveall, 
and  became  possessed  of  a  pile  of  old  books  heaped  on 
the  floor,  some  of  his  friends  marvelled  that  he  should  have 
run  the  risk  of  exciting  the  opposition  of  the  wealthiest 
man  in  the  community. 

"Oh,  I  knew  that  he  didn't  want  'em,"  said  Lim  as 
he  climbed  to  a  seat  upon  the  rail  fence,  a  low  but  estimative 
throne  of  observation.  "In  his  house  they  would  be 

41 


42  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

just  so  much  rubbish.  They  don't  talk  to  him,  and  when 
a  book  don't  speak  to  a  man  it  is  the  dumbest  thing  in 
the  world.  It  can't  make  as  much  noise  as  a  pig,  for  a 
pig  squeals;  quieter  than  a  duck,  for  a  duck  quacks — it 
simply  takes  its  place  along  with  the  brickbat  or  the  old 
shoesole  that  curls  up  in  the  sun.  But  when  a  book 
even  whispers  to  a  man  it  tells  him  the  sweetest  of  secrets. 
It  tells  him  that  he  ain't  a  blamed  fool,  and  this  is  a  mighty 
important  piece  of  news.  Whenever  I  see  an  old  book 
I  think  of  Abe  Lincoln.  He  gathered  corn  for  two  days, 
keepin'  up  the  down  row,  for  a  life  of  Washington,  and 
you  men  that  have  humped  yourselves  all  day  behind  a 
wagon  know  what  that  means.  He  was  lendin'  his  body 
to  the  work  of  openin'  up  his  soul.  It  come  hard,  that 
book  did;  it  meant  backache,  for  it  took  Lincoln  a  long 
time  to  reach  down  to  the  ground,  but  it  meant  more  than 
if  he  had  been  workin'  for  a  hundred  dollars  a  day.  Don't 
understand  me  to  say  that  every  man  that  thinks  so  much 
of  a  book  will  be  great;  he  may  never  be  able  to  go  to  a 
sale  such  as  this  and  buy  a  yoke  of  steers,  but  in  the  long 
run  it  will  be  worth  more  to  him  than  all  the  steers  that 
Old  Elisha  was  a  plowin'  when  the  call  came  for  him  to 
go  up." 

"But  the  prophet  was  a  handlin'  of  steers  instead  of 
books,"  remarked  Stoveall,  who  had  come  walking  slowly 
to  join  Lim's  audience. 

"Yes,  that's  a  fact,"  Lim  replied.  "He  was  a  plowin' 
ten  or  fifteen  yoke  of  cattle  if  I  recollect  right,  but  he  didn't 
go  to  Heaven  till  he  took  his  mind  off  the  cattle.  Didn't 


ON  BOOKS  43 

take  none  of  his  oxen  with  him,  but  he  took  wisdom  with 
him,  and  a  good  book  is  the  mouthpiece  of  wisdom.  How 
old  are  you,  Brother  Stoveall?" 

"I'm  eighty  odd." 

"  Gettin'  along  putty  well.  And  now,  lookin'  back  over 
your  life,  what  have  you  enjoyed  the  most  ? " 

"Well,  it  don't  seem  to  me  now  that  I've  ever  enjoyed 
anything  since  I  was  a  boy.  It  has  been  a  scuffle  for  me 
to  live  and  to  take  care  of  what  little  I  had  raked  together. 
I  have  had  to  watch  man  all  the  time  to  keep  him  from 
robbin'  me." 

"But  he  could  only  rob  you  of  material  things.  If 
you'd  been  wiser  you  would  have  laid  up  somethin'  he 
couldn't  rob  you  of,  and  you  could  have  set  down  by  your 
fire  at  night  and  dreamed  over  it  without  any  fear.  You 
have  known  all  along  that  they  were  goin'  to  blow  the 
horn  for  you  some  day.  It  has  always  been  certain 
that  you  had  to  go,  and  then  who  is  goin'  to  take 
care  of  the  things  you  have  raked  together?  Come 
to  think  about  it,  I  don't  believe  I  ever  heard  you 
laugh  right  good." 

"I  haven't  had  anything  to  laugh  about,"  the  old  man 
replied. 

"And  nobody  else  that  was  always  afraid  that  he  might 
be  robbed  while  he  laughed.  But  you  have  been  robbed 
out  of  a  mighty  few  pennies;  ever  since  I  can  remember 
you  have  been  able  to  go  to  a  sale  and  buy  what  you 
wanted,  and  yet  of  all  the  men  I  know,  Stoveall,  your  life 
has  been  the  biggest  failure," 


44  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"  Jucklin,  I  could  buy  and  sell  you  three  times  in  a  day, 
with  the  price  doubled  every  time  I  bought  you  back." 

"Oh,  you  mean  my  land  and  my  house.  Yes,  I  reckon 
you  could,  but  you  never  saw  money  enough  to  buy  me. 
In  lookin'  through  advertisements  for  bargains  did  you 
ever  find  happiness  for  sale?  No,  sir,  for  there  ain't 
no  bankrupt  stocks  of  happiness.  Oh,  I  used  to  think 
along  your  line.  I  didn't  think  that  I'd  ever  be  happy 
till  I  owned  all  the  land  adjoinin'  my  farm,  and  I  was 
miserable  because  I  saw.no  chance  of  gettin*  it.  Every 
day  or  so  I'd  see  a  hearse  goin'  down  the  road,  haulin' 
some  old  fellow  to  the  graveyard,  and  one  day  it  carie 
on  me  all  of  a  sudden  that  I  had  to  go  along  there,  too. 
Then  I  'lowed  that  I  ought  to  get  as  much  happiness  out 
of  the  world  as  possible,  and  I  was  thinkin'  about  it  one  day 
while  I  was  in  town,  and  I  says  to  the  county  jedge,  says 
I,  'Jedge,  is  there  any  way  for  a  man  turned  forty-five 
to  be  happy?'  He  asked  me  if  I  could  read,  and  I  told 
him  I  could  make  out  my  name  if  it  was  printed  in  a 
sheriff's  sale.  Then  he  said:  'Well,  read  good  books 
and  think  about  'em.  Don't  read  the  things  that  will 
stimulate  you  to  argufy,  but  the  things  that  will  feed  your 
mind  without  raisin'  its  bristles.  Some  books  are  full 
of  the  sweet  unselfishness  of  the  human  heart.  Read 
them.  Some  make  the  fancy  play  like  you  have  seen  the 
light' nin'  of  an  evenin'  on  a  low-hangin'  cloud  far  over 
in  the  west.  Read  them.  Don't  read  the  vicious  ones 
any  more  than  you'd  keep  close  company  with  a  vicious 
man.  Do  this  and  you'll  find  the  world  openin'  up  toward 


ON  BOOKS  45 

the  past  and  a  brightenin'  toward  the  future.  One  man 
is  really  stronger  than  another  for  what  he  knows  and  not 
for  what  he's  got.  We  know  he  can't  take  his  material 
things  with  him,  but  no  man  knows  that  he  can't  take  the 
spiritual  things.  Solomon  was  the  wisest  man,  it  is  said, 
but  I  believe  he  would  have  been  a  little  wiser  if  he  hadn't 
been  quite  so  rich.  He  wouldn't  have  been  mixed  up 
with  so  many  women,  and  right  there  is  where  he  proved 
he  wan't  any  wiser  than  some  of  the  rest  of  us. 

"Well,  I  thought  over  what  the  county  jedge  said, 
and  I  began  to  read,  slow  at  first,  for  I  hadn't  been  well 
schooled,  and  the  more  I  read  the  bigger  my  farm  seemed 
to  grow,  and  now  I've  got  more  than  ten  million  acres 
under  cultivation.  Laws  a  massy,  what  a  chance  you 
youngsters  have.  Instead  of  bein'  happy  only  in  the  latter 
end  of  your  life  you  can  begin  now.  I  don't  mean  that 
you  should  neglect  any  work  that  you  may  have  to  do,  or 
that  you  shouldn't  want  to  make  money,  but  I  do  mean 
that  you  ought  to  lay  up  an  estate  that  can't  become  bank 
rupt.  I  am  a  givin'  you  old  talk,  it  is  true,  but  it  is  the  old 
principles  that  touch  man  the  most,  for  they  have  always 
had  a  bearin'  on  his  life.  Don't  understand  me  to  mean, 
boys,  that  you  should  become  bookish,  but  jest  to  mix 
your  readin'  in  along  with  your  life.  It  will  keep  you  from 
breakin'  yourself  down  tryin'  to  keep  up  with  some  man 
that  can  make  money  easier  than  you  can,  and  he  will 
always  be  there,  jest  a  little  in  front  of  you.  Love  your 
feller-man,  for  he's  all  right  in  the  long  run.  He's  got 
more  sympathy  than  hate.  Somebody  may  tell  you  that 


46  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

human  nature  is  all  selfish,  but  don't  you  believe  it.  Well," 
he  added,  getting  down  off  the  fence,  "I  must  box  up  my 
gold  now  and  cart  it  home.  Goin'  my  way,  Brother 
Stoveall?" 

"Yes,  Jucklin,  but  you  are  no  company  for  me." 
"I  reckon  that's  right,"  Limuel  replied.     "I  know  it 
must  be  right,  for  I  haven't  got  anything  you  want." 


CHAPTER  VIII 
ON  LAWYERS 

A  LAWSUIT  had  been  tried  on  the  veranda  of  the  cross 
roads  store,  and  when  it  had  been  settled  Limuel  Jucklin, 
who  had  watched  the  proceedings,  took  the  home-made 
chair,  vacated  by  the  justice,  leaned  back  against  the  wall 
and  remarked:  "Rather  bad,  this  thing  of  goin'  to  law. 
And  ain't  it  a  peculiar  state  of  society  that  educates  men 
to  stimulate  quarrels  ?  We  may  say  that  they  ain't  trained 
for  that  purpose,  but  unless  there  are  misunderstandings 
the  lawyer's  work  is  cut  off  and  he's  got  a  little  too  much 
of  Old  Adam  in  him  not  to  look  out  for  his  own  interest." 

"You  take  a  wrong  view  of  the  matter,"  replied  a  young 
lawyer. 

"That  is  just,  about  what  I  expected  you  to  say.  But 
grantin'  to  the  lawyer  all  he  can  claim  for  himself,  it  must 
after  all  be  allowed  that  the  bickerin's  and  shortsightedness 
of  the  human  family  give  him  the  most  of  his  excuse  for 
livin'.  A  perfect  state  of  civilisation  would  argue  perfect 
honesty,  and  if  such  were  the  case  the  lawyers  would  be 
powerful  scarce.  There  is  no  denyin'  of  the  fact  that 
some  of  the  greatest  men  have  been  lawyers  and  that  the 
most  of  our  presidents  have  practised  law.  And  so  have 
some  of  the  immortal  geniuses  been  soldiers,  but  if  man 

47 


48  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

had  been  just  and  peaceable  there  never  would  have  been 
any  need  for  the  soldier." 

"According  to  your  view,  then,"  said  the  lawyer 
"there  is  no  real  need  for  anybody  that 

"That  doesn't  build  up,"  Limuel  broke  in,  winking 
at  his  former  friends.  "Every  man  ought  to  produce 
somethin'.  If  he  don't  he's  livin'  on  somebody  that  does. 
The  only  real  occupation  is  the  one  that  makes  the  world 
better.  Understand,  now,  I  have  nothin'  against  any 
body's  callin'.  I'm  just  expressin'  my  opinion  and  it 
must  be  taken  for  what  it  is  worth.  But  the  lawyer  shows 
us  one  thing  if  nothin'  more — how  keen  a  man's  mind 
may  be  whetted.  I  recollect  once  that  a  fellow  sued  me. 
We  had  swapped  horses " 

"And  you  had  got  the  better  of  him,  eh?"  said  the 
lawyer. 

"Well,  that's  the  way  it  looked  to  him.  The  horse  I 
let  him  have  died  that  night.  He  asked  me  if  the  horse 
was  sound  and  I  said  I  never  had  heard  any  complaint, 
and  I  hadn't.  He  had  never  been  under  the  care  of  a  doc 
tor  so  far  as  I  knew.  His  appetite  was  good  and  he'd 
bat  his  eye  when  you  motioned  at  him.  I  might  have 
seen  him  fall  down — have  seen  men  fall,  but  I  didn't 
think  that  they  were  goin'  to  die.  I  told  him  a  child 
could  drive  him.  A  child  did  drive  him  out  of  the  garden 
that  day.  Well,  we  swapped,  and,  as  I  say,  his  horse 
was  taken  sick  in  the  night  and  died  before  day.  He  came 
back  to  me  and  swore  that  I  had  swopped  him  a  horse  that 
I  know'd  was  goin'  to  die.  I  told  him  that  if  he'd  show 


ON  LAWYERS  49 

me  a  horse  that  wa'n't  goin'  to  die  I'd  give  him  my  farm. 
I  felt  that  he  had  the  worst  of  it  and  I  would  have  evened 
it  up  the  best  way  I  could,  but  before  I  got  through  havin' 
fun  with  him  he  got  mad  and  went  away  and  hired  a  lawyer 
to  prove  that  I  was  a  liar  and  altogether  the  worst  man  in 
the  community. 

"I  never  got  such  a  scorin'  in  my  life.  I  felt  sorry  for 
my  wife  and  children.  I  didn't  think  that  anybody 
would  ever  speak  to  me  again,  and  I  told  the  lawyer  that 
I  would  make  it  a  personal  matter  between  me  and  him. 
I  expected  the  justice  to  decide  dead  against  me,  but  he 
didn't.  He  had  been  a  horse  trader  himself. 

"Well,  after  the  thing  was  over  with  I  took  the  horse 
I  got  from  the  feller  and  went  over  to  his  house  about  ten 
miles  away  and  turned  the  nag  loose  in  his  lot.  I  did  it 
not  because  I  was  sorry  for  him,  but  because  I  was  afraid 
of  myself — afraid  that  I  couldn't  sleep,  and  I  was  workin' 
hard  and  needed  rest.  Well,  sir,  that  night  the  nag  that 
I'd  turned  into  the  lot  ups  and  dies,  and  the  feller  swore 
that  I  had  hauled  him  there  after  he  was  dead,  and 
hanged  if  he  didn't  sue  me  again.  He  got  the  same 
lawyer  and  he  made  me  out  a  worse  man  than  I  was  before. 
Made  it  appear  that  I  had  poisoned  the  horse  and  dragged 
him  over  there.  Then  I  swore  that  the  whole  county 
couldn't  hold  me  back  from  takin'  it  out  of  his  hide.  Wife 
she  cried  and  took  on,  but  I  told  her  it  wan't  no  use,  for 
justice  spurred  me  on. 

"So  the  first  chance  I  got  I  went  to  town  to  see  the 
lawyer.  I  went  over  to  the  courthouse  and  he  was  makin 


50  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

a  speech,  and  I  wish  I  may  die  dead  if  the  feller  he  was 
a  skinnin'  this  time  wan't  the  very  man  that  had  sued  me. 
I  never  hearn  anything  like  it.  Tiptoed  and  called  him  all 
sorts  of  a  scoundrel;  said  that  he  had  defrauded  me,  as 
honest  a  man  as  lived  in  the  state.  I  couldn't  stand  that, 
I  walked  on  out  and  after  a  while  he  came  along  and 
held  out  his  hand  and  called  me  'Uncle  Lim/  just  as  if 
I  was  his  mother's  brother.  Then  he  clapped  me  on  the 
shoulder  and  you  could  have  heard  him  laugh  more  than  a 
mile.  He  said  he  was  a  comin'  out  to  go  a  fishin'  with  me. 

"Well,  I  let  him  off,  and  after  we  had  got  to  be  right 
good  friends,  I  asked  him  how  he  happened  to  be  engaged 
against  my  enemy,  and  this  is  what  he  said:  'Oh,  I 
wasn't.  Some  of  the  boys  told  me  you  were  comin'  into 
the  house  and  I  knew  that  you  were  troublesome  when  you 
set  your  head  to  it,  so  as  court  wasn't  in  session  I  started 
in  to  makin'  a  speech  against  the  fellow  so  you  could 
hear  me/  and  he  clapped  me  on  the  shoulder  and  you 
could  have  hearn  him  laugh  more  than  two  miles  this 
time. 

"Get  a  lawyer  with  fun  in  him  and  he's  all  right. 
Once  I  had  some  business  on  hand — the  settlement  of  my 
brother's  estate — and  I  went  to  old  Tom  Cantrell  and  asked 
him  how  much  he  would  charge  me,  and  he  almost  took 
my  breath  with  the  amount  he  named.  I  knew  he  was  a 
man  of  a  good  deal  of  ability — liked  fun,  and  I  says  to  him 
like  this:  'Tell  you  what  arrangement  to  make,  Colonel. 
I've  got  a  mighty  fine  chicken  out  at  my  house  and  if  you 
can  fetch  out  one  to  whip  him  I'll  engage  you  and  pay 


ON  LAWYERS  51 

your  price,  but  if  my  chicken  whips  yourn,  why  you  do  the 
work  for  nothinV  He  was  a  man  of  ability  and  he  agreed. 
Ah,  me,  there  ain't  such  lawyers  about  here  these  days. 
I  recollect  once  he " 

"But  did  the  fight  come  off?"  someone  inquired. 

"Oh,  that  fight?  Yes,  held  tallow  candles  for  it  one 
night,  and  you'd  have  thought  it  was  a  snowin',  the  air 
was  so  full  of  feathers.  My  wife  kept  on  a  callin'  out, 
1  Limuel,  what  are  you  a  doin'  there  in  the  smokehouse  ? ' 
and  I  always  answered,  'I'm  diggin'  up  a  rat.  Go  on  to 
bed.  I've  most  got  him  now.' 

"I  don't  know  how  long  they  fit — other  roosters  were 
crowin'  all  around  the  neighbourhood  when  they  got 
through.  But  my  chicken  crowed  last,  and  the  Colonel 
gave  me  his  hand  with  feathers  a  stickin'  to  it,  and  says, 
says  he,  'Lim,  you've  got  me  and  I'll  take  care  of  your 
business.' 

"Best  settlement  I  ever  made.  He  took  care  of  the 
business  right  up  to  the  handle,  and  when  he  had  got 
through  he  'lowed,  he  did,  that  he  could  find  a  bird  that 
could  whip  mine  for  the  estate — said  he'd  put  up  his  law 
books  and  his  house  and  lot  against  it,  but  it  looked  too 
much  like  gamblin',  so  I  backed  down.  Oh,  he  would 
have  done  it.  Ablest  lawyer  in  the  county.  It's  a  pity 
all  lawsuits  couldn't  be  settled  somewhat  in  that  way — 
as  fairly,  I  mean. 

"I  was  just  a  thinkin',"  he  added  after  a  few  moments 
of  silence,  "  how  much  trouble  the  old  world  has  been  put 
to  tryin'  to  govern  man.  Every  year  or  so  the  Legislatures 


52  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

meet  and  make  laws  and  unmake  them,  always  experi- 
mentin'  with  man.  The  trouble  with  him  is  he  don't 
know  what  he  wants  and  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it 
after  he  gets  it.  And  the  lawyer  is  the  outgrowth  of  his 
restlessness  and  his  ignorance." 

"Think  there  will  ever  come  a  time  when  there  are  no 
lawyers?"  the  young  advocate  inquired,  and  the  old  man 
scratched  his  head. 

"Oh,  yes,  that  time  will  come,  but  it  will  be  the  time 
when  there  isn't  anything.  The  lawyer  has  come  to 
stay  as  long  as  the  rest  of  us  do.  He's  a  smart  man 
and  a  good  feller  for  the  most  part,  and  is  nearly  always 
willin'  to  forgive  you  when  he  has  done  you  a  wrong,  and 
I  want  to  remark  right  here  that  this  argues  the  extremest 
of  liberality." 


CHAPTER  IX 
ON  COUNTRY  DOCTORS 

A  NEIGHBOUR  had  been  lingering  between  life  and 
death,  and  the  attending  physician  had  just  given  his 
vague  and  guarded  opinion,  when  old  Lim  Jucklin  looked 
up  from  the  box  where  he  was  sitting  in  front  of  tke  grocery 
store  and  remarked:  "Every  man  that  gets  money 
without  stealin'  it  earns  it,  I  reckon;  but  I  don't  know 
of  anybody  that  comes  nearer  earnin'  it  twice  over  than  the 
country  doctor.  He  has  to  put  forth  all  the  skill  he  has 
and  then  must  lie  to  keep  hope  alive.  And  hope  is  the 
best  medicine  ever  discovered,  for  it  not  only  aids  the 
sick,  but  helps  the  well  to  bear  their  burdens. 

"I  recollect  once  when  old  Dock  Haines  practised  in 
this  neighbourhood,  long  before  the  most  of  you  were 
born.  Satchett  Smith  was  taken  down  with  some  sort 
of  new-fangled  fever  that  was  prowlin'  around  the  neigh 
bourhood,  and  kept  on  a  gettin'  worse.  Finally,  one  day 
his  neighbours  came  in  to  be  present  at  his  death,  and 
they  were  a  settin'  about  a  waitin'  for  the  dreaded  end 
when  Dock  he  came  in — spoke  cheerfully  to  everybody, 
joked  with  a  gal  about  her  beau  and  jollied  a  widow 
about  an  old  feller  that  was  seen  hangin'  around  on  the 
outskirts  of  her  good  graces.  Well,  the  wife  of  the  sick 

53 


54  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

man  she  comes  in,  just  able  to  walk,  she  was  so  grief 
stricken,  and  puts  her  arms  about  one  of  the  women  and 
begins  to  cry;  and  well  she  might,  for  Smith  he  was  a  good 
husband  and  never  found  fault  with  a  thing  that  was 
or  was  not  on  the  table  at  mealtime.  All  of  the  women 
folks  thought  it  was  about  time  to  cry,  and  they  cried  and 
the  men  hemmed  and  hawed  and  Smith  he  lay  there  a 
fetchin'  of  his  breath  the  best  he  could  under  the  cir 
cumstances.  Parson  Biglow  went  up  to  the  bed  and 
asked  Smith  how  he  felt,  and  Smith  said  he  wan't  feelin' 
at  his  best,  and  no  one  in  the  room  disputed  the  assertion. 
But  Dock  he  demurred  to  the  proceedings;  he  'lowed  that 
it  wan't  meet  and  it  wan't  fittin'  to  cross-question  the 
patient  in  sich  a  manner.  Biglow  turned  about  and  says, 
says  he :  'I  am  a  preacher,  sir,  and  I  have  a  right  to  talk 
to  him  about  his  soul.' 

"'Yes,'  says  Dock,  'but  not  till  after  I  get  through 
with  his  body/ 

"Biglow  he  was  up  in  matters  of  retort,  and  he  says, 
says  he:  'And  when  you  do  get  through  with  his  body 
his  soul  will  be  gone,'  and  Smith  he  lay  there  actin'  like 
lie  couldn't  find  another  breath.  Then  Dock  he  straight 
ened  up  and  we  all  knowed  that  somethin'  extraordinary 
was  about  to  happen.  'If  anybody  believes  strong 
enough  that  Smith  here  is  goin'  to  die  he's  got  a  chance 
to  win  some  easy  money,'  said  he.  'Twenty  dollars 
ain't  picked  up  every  minute  and  I'll  bet  twenty  dollars 
in  gold  and  put  up  the  money  right  now  that  Smith  ain't 
goin'  to  die  this  season.  Any  takers  ?' 


ON  COUNTRY  DOCTORS  55 

"The  preacher  says,  'Yes,  undertakers/  which  showed 
to  us  that  along  with  his  knowledge  of  divine  things  he 
was  sorter  sarcastic.  A  discussion  might  have  followed, 
but  up  spoke  Slip  Buckner.  He  was  the  bettin'ist  man 
probably  that  ever  lived,  and  if  a  chance  to  bet  ever  got 
by  him  it  was  in  the  night,  when  he  was  in  bed  and  asleep. 
Well,  he  spoke  up  and  says  that  he  will  take  the  bet  and  we 
all  looked  at  him,  but  not  with  any  particular  admiration, 
for  he  was  bettin'  on  a  sure  thing.  He  fished  up  his  money 
outen  the  seams  of  his  clothes  and  his  wife  she  scolded 
him  under  her  breath,  but  he  shook  his  head  at  her  and 
proceeded  with  the  business  in  hand.  '  Here's  my  money/ 
says  he,  'and  I  just  need  twenty  more  to  complete  the 
purchase  of  a  yoke  of  steers  that  I've  had  my  eye  on  for 
some  time.'  He  looked  at  Dock  and  so  did  we  all,  for 
we  couldn't  see  why  he  would  throw  away  his  twenty 
dollars.  But  he  didn't  wince.  He  took  out  his  gold 
piece  and  'Squire  Patterson  held  the  stakes,  and  after  the 
excitement  of  puttin'  up  the  money  the  women  returned  to 
their  cryin'  and  things  were  putty  much  as  they  were 
before — that  is,  except  with  Smith  himself. 

"  Now  Smith  he  had  travelled  up  and  down  the  Missis 
sippi  River  in  his  younger  days,  a  bettin'  of  everything 
he  had,  and  it  had  always  held  a  sort  of  charm  for  him. 
He  had  sorter  sided  off  with  the  Church,  but  he  couldn't 
forget  the  excitement  of  a  bet  and,  while  he  didn't  indulge 
durin'  his  later  life,  he  felt  the  thrill  of  it  and  would  hang 
round  for  hours  a  beggin'  the  boys  not  to  bet  on  hosses, 
but  stayin'  till  the  last  race  was  run.  And  now  he  was 


56  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN" 

interested.  It  was  the  first  thing  that  had  claimed  his 
entire  mind  since  the  fever  came  along  and  spread  its 
heat  over  him.  'He'll  be  a  walkin'  about  in  less  than 
two  weeks/  says  Dock,  and  Slip  Buckner  begins  to  search 
himself.  l  Somewhere  about  me  I've  got  twenty  more 
that  says — he — won't/  he  declared,  and  Dock  he  sorter 
winced  at  this,  but  he  was  game,  and  without  sayin'  a 
word  he  outs  with  another  gold  piece  and  Buckner  he 
covered  it  with  silver  and  paper,  and  the  women  folks 
'lowed  that  the  world  was  gettin'  closer  and  closer  akin 
to  old  Satan  every  day. 

"For  a  long  time  Dock  he  set  there  swearin'  that  he 
was  sure  to  win,  and  finally  he  says  to  Smith  that  he  will 
give  him  half  the  money.  And  Smith  laughed — yes,  sir, 
laughed,  not  a  loud  haw-haw,  it  is  true,  but  a  chuckle,  and 
the  women  cried  afresh,  for  they  thought  that  Smith  was 
goin'  into  eternity  a  laughin',  which  to  them  was  a  mighty 
bad  promise  for  the  future.  Well,  we  set  about  till  evenin', 
and  when  the  candles  were  lighted  the  fire  on  the  hearth 
began  to  sing  a  low  sweet  song,  imitatin'  the  sound  of 
somebody  walkin'  through  snow,  and  we  heard  Smith 
breathin'  in  a  natural  sort  of  way  and  we  looked  at  him 
and  he  was  asleep.  Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  he 
was  better  the  next  mornin',  and  within  the  time  set  he  was 
walkin'  about,  and  Dock  not  only  gave  him  half  the  money, 
but  all  he  had  won.  And  Buckner — well,  some  time 
afterward,  when  Smith  was  a  candidate  for  jestice  of  the 
peace,  Buck  he  'lows,  'I  ain't  goin'  to  vote  for  him.  He 
done  me  a  bad  turn  once — beat  me  out  of  a  lot  of  money/ 


ON  COUNTRY  DOCTORS  57 

Dock  told  me  that  he  expected  to  lose  the  money,  but  it 
was  one  chance  in  a  thousand  that  he  might  save  Smith 
by  excitin'  his  mind. 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  old  man  added  after  a  few  moments  of 
meditation,  "a  doctor  must  know  human  nature  as  well 
as  medicine,  and  this  knowledge  mixed  with  medicine  is 
what  makes  one  doctor  better  than  another.  Fve  known 
'em  to  git  out  of  their  beds  the  coldest  nights  that  ever 
blowed  and  ride  ten  miles  to  doctor  a  man  they  knowed 
wan't  a  goin'  to  pay  a  cent.  It  takes  great  strength 
always  to  handle  weakness;  it  takes  a  god-like  patience  to 
deal  with  the  fretful  and  not  be  warped  over  to  the  side  of 
continual  peevishness,  and  whenever  I  hear  a  doctor  a 
laughin'  I  always  rejoice  with  him.  Science  in  medicine 
travels  slow,  it  is  true,  for  each  human  body  is  an  individual 
machine,  and  every  mornin'  has  a  new  way  to  go  wrong. 
And  I  have  known  men  to  be  such  liars  that  they  wouldn't 
tell  a  doctor  the  truth  as  to  how  they  felt,  fearin'  that  they 
were  givin'  him  some  little  advantage.  The  average 
doctor  has  a  good  sense  of  humour  and  has  stored  up  some 
of  the  oldest  jokes  I  ever  heard,  and  this  is  in  the  direct 
line  of  his  usefulness,  for  a  sick  man  can't  understand  a 
new  joke  as  well  as  an  old  one.  The  old  one  may  bring 
up  the  memory  of  a  former  laugh  and  thereby  do  him 
good. 

"The  saddest  time  for  the  sick  man  is  not  when  the 
doctor  is  comin'  to  see  him,  but  the  time  when  the  doctor's 
bill  begins  to  pay  its  visits.  It  ought  not  to  be,  but  a 
doctor's  bill  is  a  mighty  hard  thing  to  pay.  It  is  like 


58  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

payin'  for  a  January  overcoat  in  July.  When  old  Alf  Bug 
was  gettin'  well — just  about  the  time  the  doctor  pro 
nounced  him  out  of  danger — he  said  to  him:  'Doctor 
you  have  been  mighty  faithful,  and  I  thank  you,  but  I'm 
sorry  that  I  can't  pay  you  nothin'.  If  I  had  died  you 
would  have  got  your  money,  for  my  life  is  insured,  but 
as  it  is  I  can't  give  you  a  cent.' 

"The  doctor  looked  at  him  a  minute  and  says:    'Bug, 
I  think  you  need  just  one  more  dose  of  medicine.' 

"'Much  obleeged  to  you/  replied  Bug,  'but  I've  got  a 
plenty.'" 


CHAPTER  X 
ON   GAMBLING 

"A  LOVE  for  gamblin'  was  born  about  the  time  that 
human  nature  first  opened  its  eyes.  A  disposition  to 
steal  somethin'  was  born  just  a  few  moments  before,  but 
a  man  may  gamble  and  not  be  a  thief.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  an  honest  gambler — that  is,  a  gambler  who  is 
willing  to  give  a  man  a  fair  chance — to  lose  his  money. 
The  gambler  wants  your  money,  and  it  ain't  much  trouble 
for  him  to  accommodate  his  conscience  as  to  the  way  he 
gets  it.  If  he  is  sharper  than  you  are  he  compliments 
himself  with  the  fact  that  he  understands  his  business,  and 
every  man  that  has  a  trade  likes  to  know  its  details  better 
than  the  other  man  does." 

Thus  spoke  old  Limuel  to  a  few  friends  who  were  gath 
ered  about  the  fireside  in  the  Jucklin  home.  The  wind 
was  howling  and  the  snow,  like  shreaded  sheets,  was  flying 
past  the  windows. 

"But  you  don't  believe  that  all  gamblers  are  thieves?" 
remarked  old  man  Brizintine. 

"  I  said  I  didn't.  But  there  ain't  nothin'  that  will  strain 
a  man's  honesty  more  than  gamblin'  will." 

"That's  been  preached  on  many  a  time,"  Brizintine 

spoke  up.     "But  I  never  gambled  in  my  life  and " 

59 


60  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"And  you  don't  know  just  how  far  you  are  honest," 
Lim  broke  in. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  understand  you." 

"Didn't  think  you  did,"  replied  Jucklin.  "But  I  can 
explain.  The  man  that  gambles  has  more  temptations 
to  steal  than  any  other  man.  When  he  has  lost  everything 
a  strong  resentment  arises  against  life.  It  is  almost  im 
possible  for  him  to  believe  that  he  has  been  fairly  beaten, 
and  if  he  is  broad  enough  to  acknowledge  this  he  then 
questions  Fate  for  her  onesidedness.  He  wants  to  know 
what  right  she's  got  to  discriminate  so  against  him.  It  has 
been  said  that  all  men  are  natural  gamblers,  and  it  may 
be  true,  for  the  most  of  us  have  had  to  fight  against  it. 

"Unfortunately  for  man,  work  was  put  on  him  as  a 
curse.  The  fact  is,  it  enobles  him,  but  he  accepted  it  as 
a  curse.  And  when  his  brother  has  committed  a  crime, 
not  grave  enough  to  hang  him,  he  says:  'I  will  sentence 
you  to  work.'  In  the  olden  times  a  man  that  worked 
wan't  respected  as  much  as  the  highwayman.  They 
hanged  the  robber,  it  is  true,  but  they  respected  him  more 
than  they  did  the  man  that  handled  the  hoe.  And  the 
gambler  is  a  sort  of  social  highwayman.  I  don't  say  he 
is  a  bad  feller.  In  many  instances  he  persuades  himself 
to  believe  that  his  profession  is  right.  He  puts  up  his 
money,  takes  chances,  and  if  he  wins  he  has  come  by  the 
money  as  honestly  as  if  he  had  dug  in  the  ground  for  it — 
he  thinks.  And  as  long  as  he  wins  he  may  be  honest. 
But  his  principles  undergo  a  change  when  he  begins  to 
lose.  Then  he  can't  help  feelin'  that  he  is  givin'  the 


ON  GAMBLING  61 

other  feller  too  much  show.  When  he  has  lost  all  he 
must  have  money  in  order  to  carry  on  his  business.  Sup 
pose  he  is  employed  to  collect  money — suppose  he  is  in  a 
bank.  If  he  refrains  from  takin'  money  to  gamble  with 
he  is  honest — desperately  honest,  you  might  say.  And 
he  may  refrain  day  after  day— for  years;  but  some  day  he 
may  find  himself  weak.  This  weakness  may  consist  of  an 
overconfidence  in  self— in  an  overabundance  of  hope, 
in  a  faith  that  he  will  win  and  can  pay  back.  Right  there 
he  is  gone.  Think  you  are  strong  enough  to  stand  such 
a  temptation  as  that,  Brother  Brizintine?" 

"I  would  not  use  any  man's  money,"  Brizintine  an 
swered.  "I  surely  have  sense  enough  to  know  what  is 
my  own,  and  knowing  what  is  not  my  own  I  have  honesty 
enough  not  to  take  it." 

"Yes,"  replied  Jucklin,  "and  what  you  have  said  is  the 
answer  that  nine  out  of  ten  men  would  make— and 
honestly,  too.  But  the  fact  is,  you  don't  know." 

"What!  do  you  mean  to  say  I  don't  know  whether  or 
not  I'm  honest?" 

"I  mean  just  what  I  say— you  don't  know.  It  is  all 
very  well  for  the  untried  man  to  believe  himself  strong, 
but  unless  he  has  been  severely  tried  he  does  not  know." 

"Do  you  know,  Brother  Jucklin?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  just  how  far  I  know.  Many  years 
ago  I  was  workin'  at  a  mill  that  took  in  a  good  deal  of 
money.  Finally  they  gave  me  charge  of  it.  Along  about 
that  time  a  party  of  us  used  to  meet  two  or  three  times  a 
week  to  play  a  social  game  of  poker.  It  got  to  be  so 


62  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

sociable  that  it  kept  me  broke.  I  knew  that  it  was  largely 
a  game  of  luck  and  that  the  cards  would  break  even  after 
a  while,  and  that  may  be  true,  in  the  long  run,  but  the 
run  is  too  long.  In  the  course  of  a  thousand  years  they 
might  have  broke  even,  but  as  it  was,  they  broke  with 
just  enough  promise  to  hold  me  tied  in  fascination  to  the 
game.  I  began  to  borrow  money — and  it  took  all  of  my 
wages  to  pay  it  back.  One  night  I  went  over  to  meet  the 
boys.  I  didn't  have  a  cent  of  my  own,  and  I  wouldn't  have 
gone  if  I  hadn't  thought  that  someone  would  lend  me 
enough  to  get  into  the  game.  But  everyone  hemmed  and 
hawed  and  spoke  of  the  extreme  need  for  money,  of  hard 
times  and  the  like — the  very  men  who  had  week  after 
week  got  all  of  my  wages.  Just  then  it  flashed  across  me 
that  in  my  pocket  were  more  than  a  hundred  dollars 
belongin'  to  the  mill.  With  this  amount  as  a  backin'  I 
felt  sure  that  I  could  win  back  some  of  the  money  I  had 
lost.  It  was  perfectly  plain — I  could  do  it.  At  some 
stage  of  the  game  I  had  nearly  always  been  ahead,  but 
wouldn't  quit.  But  why  couldn't  I  quit?  The  other 
fellers  jumped,  and  with  my  money.  Why  couldn't  I 
do  the  same  ?  I  broke  out  in  a  sweat.  I  strove  to  bring 
up  arguments  against  rny  sitting  in  the  game  and  couldn't. 
Luck  whispered  that  it  was  with  me,  and  it  didn't  seem 
possible  that  I  could  lose.  Never  before  had  I  felt  so 
strongly  that  it  was  my  night.  I  arose  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  room.  I  could  hear  my  blood  singin*.  I  turned 
and  looked  at  the  boys,  each  one  with  an  expression  of 
eagerness  on  his  face.  I  felt  myself  superior  to  them.  I 


ON  GAMBLING  63 

could  beat  them.  There  they  sat,  completely  within  the 
power  of  my  skill  and  my  luck.  I  could  win  enough  to 
pay  back  the  money  that  I  owed,  and  with  my  wages  I 
could  buy  clothes — and  I  needed  'em.  Suddenly  I  rushed 
out  of  the  house,  and  I  ran — ran  all  the  way  to  the  home 
of  the  mill  owner — snatched  his  money  out  of  my  pocket 
and  gave  it  to  him.  I  told  him  what  I  had  gone  through 
with,  and  he  turned  pale  and  took  hold  of  the  mantel 
piece  to  steady  himself.  'My  son/  said  he,  'I  have  been 
all  along  there,  only  I  didn't  run  away — until  afterward. 
They  caught  me  and  brought  me  back,  and  it  was  only 
by  the  grace — of  human  nature  that  I  didn't  go  to  the 
penitentiary/" 

In  the  company  there  were  three  young  fellows.  The 
old  man's  recital  had  moved  them.  "And  did  you  play 
again,  Uncle  Lim?"  one  of  them  inquired. 

"No,  I  didn't.  And  although  it  may  appear  narrow 
in  me,  but  let  me  say  that  a  playin'  card  shan't  come  into 
my  house.  In  itself  a  deck  of  cards  is  innocent  enough, 
and  so  is  a  bottle  of  licker  if  you  don't  drink  it.  It  is 
true  though,  so  far  as  my  experience  counts,  that  nearly 
every  gambler  begins  in  a  social  way,  without  any  thought 
of  becomin'  one.  Very  few  of  them  set  out  with  the  aim 
to  make  gamblin'  their  profession.  Take  bosses,  for 
instance.  Nearly  all  men  like  a  fine  hoss — like  to  see 
him  run.  They  develop  a  judgment  as  to  the  runnin* 
qualities  of  a  hoss  and  finally  are  willin'  to  back  it  up 
with  money.  Whose  business  is  it  ?  The  money  belongs 
to  them  and  was  honestly  earned.  Understand  now,  I 


64  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

ain't  a  preachin'  a  moral  sermon  for  I  ain't  fitted  for  that. 
I  just  want  to  talk  in  a  human  nature  sort  of  way  for  the 
benefit  of  these  boys.  Don't  bet  on  anything.  That's 
the  safest  plan.  If  there's  no  fun  in  goin'  to  boss  races 
unless  you  bet,  don't  go." 

"But  haven't  you  bet  on  roosters?"  old  Brizintine  in 
quired,  looking  wise. 

"Well,  I  have  seen  the  feathers  fly  from  the  wrong 
chicken,"  Lim  answered.  "And  if  I  have  bet,  and  have 
seen  the  evil  of  it,  I  am  all  the  fitter  to  talk  to  these  young 
chaps.  Boys,  if  you  don't  want  to  be  on  trial  all  your 
life,  don't  bet  on  anything." 


CHAPTER  XI 
ON  DRINKING 

AN  old  log  distillery,  famous  throughout  the  county, 
had  just  been  destroyed  by  fire,  and  several  men,  sitting 
in  the  courthouse,  were  talking  about  the  passing  away 
of  this  landmark,  dating  back  to  British  rule,  when 
Liinuel  Jucklin  spoke  up:  "And  I  understand  that  it's 
not  to  be  rebuilt.  This  shows  how  sentiment  has  grown 
in  a  certain  direction.  Why,  I  can  remember  the  time 
when  if  a  stillhouse  had  burned  down  they  would  have 
begun  to  rebuild  it  before  the  ground  cooled  off.  Every 
man  in  the  community  would  have  been  interested.  It 
would  have  been  almost  like  shutting  off  the  supply  of 
milk  from  a  youngster.  In  those  days  if  a  man 
hollered  hello  you'd  ask  him  to  have  a  drink 
before  you  inquired  the  nature  of  his  business.  That 
much  was  naturally  to  be  inferred.  But  a  good 
many  folks  will  tell  you  that  there  wan't  as  much 
drunkenness  then  as  there  is  now.  Well,  there  wan't 
as  many  people.  If  there  had  been  as  many  people 
there  would  have  been  more  drunkenness.  The  fact 
is  that  a  good  many  men  were  about  full  all  the  time 
and  as  no  one  had  ever  seen  them  sober  nobody  could  tell 
when  they  were  drunk." 

65 


66  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"Then  you  don't  believe  that  a  dram  is  good  for  a  man  ?" 
said  the  county  judge. 

"Well,  if  he  thinks  it  is,  mebby  it  is — as  long  as  he  is 
justified  in  thinkin'  so.  But  in  these  days  it  requires  about 
all  of  a  man's  keenness — his  freshness,  you  understand — 
to  make  a  livin*  or  to  push  anything  to  success,  and  a 
good-sized  horn  of  liquor  nearly  always  takes  off  the  wire 
edge.  I  can  recollect  when  the  average  lawyer  thought 
he  had  to  be  about  half  drunk  before  he  could  make  a 
speech.  Whisky  gave  him  a  bigger  flow  of  words,  and  as 
whisky  was  the  jury  and  sometimes  the  judge  as  well  as 
the  lawyer,  liquor  appeared  to  have  pretty  nigh  everything 
its  own  way.  A  trial  wan't  hardly  anything  but  a  talkin* 
contest.  The  loudest  talker  was  usually  regarded  as  the 
smartest  man,  for  of  all  critics  in  the  world  whisky  is  the 
worst. 

"Whisky  not  only  furnished  the  argument,  but  very 
often  supplied  the  cause  for  litigation.  Most  of  the 
trials  were  of  a  criminal  nature,  the  cause  for  an  ordinary 
lawsuit  having  resulted  in  a  fight.  And  I  could  always 
believe  the  story  they  told  on  old  Tom  Marshall,  one  of 
the  greatest  lawyers  of  his  time  I  reckon.  One  day  he 
was  rather  hurriedly  engaged  to  defend  a  feller,  but  as  he 
was  pretty  far  along  in  his  cups — quart  cups  at  that — 
he  got  off  on  his  wrong  foot  and  began  to  prosecute.  He 
tiptoed  in  his  wrath.  He  painted  the  feller  as  bein'  the 
worst  scoundrel  on  the  earth.  Just  then  somebody  pulled 
at  his  coat  tail  and  says,  'Tom,  you're  on  the  wrong  side.' 
What  did  Tom  do — apologise?  No,  he  just  sloshed  his 


ON  DRINKING  67 

liquor  over  on  the  other  side  and  there  he  was.  He  said, 
'Such,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  is  the  false  argument 
that  will  be  brought  forward  against  this  inoffensive 
gentleman/  and  so  forth,  and  then  he  proceeded  to  clear 
him.  The  young  lawyer  had  to  drink  because  the  old 
feller  set  him  the  example.  Why,  in  those  days  a 
man  didn't  think  he  was  at  himself  until  he  had  about 
three  drinks.  There  was  hardly  any  such  thing  as 
farm  machinery.  They  cut  wheat  with  a  cradle  and 
plowed  with  cast  iron  —  thrashed  grain  with  a  flail 
and " 

Here  old  Uncle  Ben  Weatherby  spoke  up.  "Yes,  and 
folks  were  a  dinged  sight  better  off  then  than  now.  There 
wan't  half  as  much  stealin'  a  goin'  on." 

"No,"  Limuel  admitted,  "because  there  wan't  half 
as  much  to  steal  nor  half  as  many  folks  to  steal  it.  But 
when  a  man  thinks  as  you  do,  Uncle  Ben,  there  ain't  no 
use  to  arguy  with  him.  Nobody  can  successfully  arguy 
with  a  man  that's  a  livin'  in  the  past.  It  is  of  no  use  to 
dispute  the  writin'  on  a  tombstone.  But  I  happen  to 
remember  that  in  them  good  old  days  I  had  to  work  on  a 
farm  and  I  know  what  it  was.  There  wan't  hardly  a  book 
in  the  whole  neighbourhood,  and  a  newspaper  was  looked 
on  as  the  agent  of  old  Satan  himself.  The  result  was  that 
when  a  man  went  a  few  miles  from  home  he  was  in  a 
strange  land.  There  wan't  a  stove  anywhere,  and  in  the 
winter  we  nearly  froze  to  death.  But  there's  no  use  in 
recountin*  all  of  the  inconveniences.  You  won't  acknowl 
edge  'em  anyhow." 


68  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  the  Judge,  "but  with  all 
the  liquor  drinkin'  folks  lived  longer  then." 

"That  so?  The  reports  of  the  life  insurance  com 
panies  don't  say  it.  The  faster  we  get  out  of  the  good  old 
days  the  longer  the  average  of  life.  They  say  it's  on  ac 
count  of  sanitation.  But  there  hasn't  been  much  of  a 
change  in  that  respect  in  the  country.  But  here  the 
average  length  of  life  is  increasin'  the  same  as  in  the  towns. 
It's  liquor,  boys;  just  liquor.  The  most  important  truths 
are  the  slowest  ones  we  learn,  and  it  took  a  long  time  to 
find  out  that  even  one  drink  of  whisky  a  day  is  bad.  It 
builds  up  the  substance  of  trouble  and  gives  merely  the 
shadow  of  pleasure.  Of  course,  I  know  there  is  no  use  to 
talk  this  way  to  you  old  fellers.  Your  opinions  are 
formed  and  your  habits  are  set,  but  there  is  a  generation 
a  comin'  and  the  youngsters  are  the  ones  I'm  after. 

"So  far  as  liquor  makin'  a  lawyer  or  a  doctor  smart, 
why  there  ain't  a  thought  in  a  whole  distillery — not  one — 
any  more  than  there  is  a  truth  in  a  deception.  There  is 
still  a  good  deal  of  whisky  mixed  up  in  politics,  and 
there  is  also  a  good  bit  of  Old  Nick  left  in  the  same.  But 
there  was  a  time  when  the  man  that  could  furnish  the 
most  whisky  was  the  surest  of  election.  I  recollect  once 
a  seein'  a  whisky  keg  used  for  a  ballot  box,  and  I  never 
knew  of  anything  more  appropriate.  And  say,  Uncle  Ben, 
while  you  are  turnin'  your  eyes  back  into  the  past,  see  if 
you  can  find  a  statesman  that  was  a  drunkard.  Some 
of  the  most  entertainin'  speakers  got  drunk  occasionally, 
but  they  wan't  statesmen.  Now,  a  statesman  ought  to  be 


ON  DRINKING  69 

able  to  see  the  comin'  of  a  great  calamity.  But  not  one 
of  those  men  called  statesmen  because  they  were  enter- 
tainin'  could  foresee  the  almost  never-endin'  calamity  of 
our  Civil  War.  On  both  sides  they  thought  it  would  be  a 
muster,  the  firm'  of  a  few  guns  and  then  a  subsidin'  of  the 
whole  thing.  Wine  helped  to  blow  the  flame,  but  it  never 
helped  to  put  out  the  fire. 

"Yes,  I'd  like  to  talk  to  the  young  fellers.  There  ain't 
no  hope  for  the  young  man  that  drinks.  He  may  be  just 
as  moral — in  a  general  way  he  may  be  more  moral  than 
hundreds  of  fellers  that  don't  touch  liquor  at  all — but  in 
these  days  liquor  on  a  young  man's  breath  offsets  a 
thousand  letters  as  to  character.  I  notice  in  a  newspaper 
that  the  Emperor  of  Germany  says  that  beer  is  ruinin' 
thousands  of  his  people.  Temperance  folks  used  to  hold 
up  beer  as  a  means  of  escapin'  whisky.  But  when  a 
man's  drunk  it  doesn't  make  much  difference  what  put 
him  there.  I've  noticed  that  a  right  industrious  man  can 
get  drunk  on  beer,  and  when  it  comes  to  drinkin'  the 
average  man  ain't  wantin'  in  industry. 

"A  good  while  ago,  when  I  didn't  have  quite  as  much 
jedgment  as  I've  got  now,  someone  told  me  that  I  ought 
to  take  beer  as  a  tonic.  He  took  it  and  was  the  healthiest- 
lookin'  man  I  ever  saw.  Well,  havin'  a  little  leanin' 
that  way  anyhow,  I  took  his  advice.  I  started  in  one  day 
when  I'd  come  into  town  to  get  some  barbed  wire,  and  the 
more  I  drank  the  more  I  was  convinced  that  it  wouldn't 
make  me  drunk.  I  fell  off  my  horse  goin'  home  and  as 
I  couldn't  get  back,  I  slept  right  where  I  was.  And  when 


70  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

I  woke  up  nobody  could  have  convinced  me  that  I  hadn't 
eaten  the  barbed  wire.  I  haven't  touched  a  drop  since, 
but  it  took  me  about  ten  years  to  live  down  that  day's 
report.  Folks  would  say,  'Oh,  yes,  I  know  Lim  Jucklin 
— gets  drunk  and  falls  off  his  horse.'  So,  boys,  whenever 
some  feller  finds  a  good  temperance  drink  for  you,  go  him 
a  little  better  and  stick  to  water.  I  beg  your  pardon  for 
preachin'  to  you,  Uncle  Ben,  but  I  believe  you  needed  it." 


CHAPTER  XII 
ON  DOGS 

A  BIRD  hunter,  having  become  enraged  at  his  dog, 
seized  him  by  the  collar,  snatched  up  a  stick  and  ad 
ministered  to  him  an  unmerciful  beating.  On  the  fence 
not  far  away  sat  old  Lim  Jucklin,  and  he  called  to  the 
hunter:  "By  the  way,  there,  when  you  get  through  with 
that  dog,  and  if  you  ain't  in  too  big  a  hurry  to  go  some 
where  else,  I'd  like  to  say  something  to  you.  I  have  an 
idea  that  it  may  do  you  good." 

"I  don't  know  that  I've  got  any  too  much  time  for  you, 
old  man,"  the  hunter  replied. 

"Well,  I  didn't  ask  for  too  much  time.  It  won't  take 
me  long  to  tell  you  what  I  think." 

The  hunter  came  slowly  forward,  and  at  the  same 
time  two  of  his  companions,  having  overheard  what 
had  been  said,  came  out  of  the  corn  field  and,  speaking 
pleasantly  to  the  old  man,  waited  for  him  to  proceed  with 
their  friend.  The  dog,  true  to  the  instincts  of  his  generous 
race,  came  up  to  forgive  and  to  renew  his  promises  of 
eternal  fidelity. 

"What  is  it  you  want  with  me?"  the  hunter  inquired. 
"As  I  said  before,  I  haven't  much  time." 

"Ah,  hah,"  replied  the  old  man,  "but  you've  got  the 

71 


72  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

time  to  quit  your  business  whatever  it  may  be  and  to  come 
over  here  and  to  hunt  on  my  land  without  ever  havin' 
asked  for  the  permission." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir;  I  didn't  know  this  was  your 
land." 

"Yes,  that's  the  trouble  with  such  fellers  as  you  are — 
you  never  know.  However,  I  don't  mind  your  huntin'  on 
my  land,  but  as  long  as  I  pay  taxes  on  it  you  shan't  beat 
your  dog  on  it.  Don't  be  impatient,  now,  and  listen 
a  minute  to  what  I've  got  to  say.  I  don't  set  myself  up  as 
a  lecturer,  you  understand,  but  once  in  a  while  I  drop  into 
a  talk,  if  the  occasion  brings  it  up,  and  the  occasion  happens 
to  do  so  just  at  present.  Why  did  you  beat  the  dog?" 

"Flushed  a  bird  when  he  had  no  business  to." 

"It  come  out  of  his  eagerness  and  his  enthusiasm  I 
reckon.  And  while  he  was  a  workin'  for  you,  too.  Some 
times  you  get  so  excited  that  you  shoot  too  quick,  don't 
you?  Ah,  hah,  I'll  bet  you  do.  But  you  lay  it  to  the 
keenness  of  your  blood  and  don't  look  on  it  as  a  crime. 
But  you  think  that  your  dog  ought  to  have  more  self  con 
trol  and  a  readier  exercise  of  reason  than  you've  got. 
And,  as  a  general  thing,  I  bet  he  has." 

"He's  putting  it  on  you,  Jim,"  said  one  of  the  com 
panions.  "Go  ahead,  old  man,  we'll  make  him  take  it.'' 

"Oh,  there  ain't  much  to  take— just  a  little  talk  that 
may  not  do  him  any  harm.  Every  man  knows  that  he 
ought  not  to  be  cruel  to  an  animal,  but  sometimes  we 
know  a  thing  so  well  that  we  forget  it.  Some  men  have 
passed  all  of  their  lives  lookin'  for  a  big  truth  and  have 


ON  DOGS  73 

«i 

overlooked  all  of  the  little  ones.  And  the  hardest  thing 
to  convince  a  man  of  is  the  thing  he  already  knows.  It's 
no  use  to  talk  to  you  about  the  intelligence  and  faithfulness 
of  a  dog;  you  know  all  that  as  well  as  I  do,  but  I  just  want 
to  ask  you  this:  What  has  that  dog  got  to  look  forward 
to  except  to  please  you?  In  the  tone  of  your  voice  he 
finds  the  colour  of  life — dark  or  light.  When  you  frown 
it  is  cloudy  weather  for  him ;  but  when  you  smile  it  doesn't 
make  any  difference  to  him  how  the  rain  pours  or  how  the 
snow  flies.  He  is  ready  to  go  with  you.  The  night  can't 
be  too  dark  nor  the  wind  too  bitin'.  When  you  want  to 
go  out  the  most  cheerful  fire  would  be  uncomfortable  for 
him.  Talk  about  the  influence  of  a  man  in  his  family! 
Talk  about  ownership!  Why,  you  own  the  dog's  body 
and  he  gladly  makes  you  a  present  of  his  soul.  The  Bible 
teaches  us  to  forgive,  and  in  this  the  dog  is  more  religious 
than  man.  You  may  say  that  this  comes  through  fear,  but 
the  dog  is  not  afraid  to  give  his  life  for  you;  and  I  don't 
want  to  hurt  your  feelin's  here  on  my  own  land,  but  I've 
always  noticed  that  the  feller  that  will  beat  a  dog  will 
cheat  a  man  if  he  gets  a  right  good  chance." 

"Look  here,  old  fellow,  you  may  be  going  too  far.  I 
never  cheated  a  man  in  my  life." 

"And  I  was  goin'  to  add  that  the  man  that  would  beat 
a  dog  would  also  lie — if  you  give  him  the  chance,"  said 
the  old  man. 

"What,  and  you  mean  that  you  have  given  me  the 
chance?" 

The    companions    began    to    laugh    and    old    Limuel 


74  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

quietly  chuckled.  "Well,  Fm  liberal  enough  to  give  a 
man  almost  any  sort  of  a  chance  he  may  be  lookin'  for. 
By  the  way,  what's  your  business?" 

"I  run  a  coal  yard." 

"Sell  coal.  Now  that  can  be  made  as  honest  a  business 
as  any  in  the  world.  But  don't  you  sometimes  guess  at 
the  weight  of  a  ton?" 

"Well,  not  exactly  guess  at  it.  I've  been  in  the  business 
so  long  that  I  can  come  pretty  close  to  a  ton  by  looking 
at  it." 

"Then  you  guess  at  it;  and  did  you  ever  know  one  of 
those  close  guessers  to  guess  on  the  wrong  side  ?  It's 
like  the  man  that  makes  a  mistake  in  givin'  change — 
usually  makes  it  in  his  own  favour.  This  may  be  honest, 
you  know — makin'  a  mistake  in  your  own  favour — but  it 
comes  out  of  an  underlyin'  principle  of  selfishness.  And, 
before  I  forget  it,  let  me  say  that  I've  always  noticed  that 
the  feller  that  beats  a  dog  is  one  likely  in  a  perfectly 
honest  way  to  short-change  you. 

"A  man  may  be  honest  as  to  dollars  and  cents  and  at 
the  same  time  cruel.  I  knew  a  man  who  always  paid  his 
debts,  but  who  beat  his  wife.  Honesty  and  gentleness  are 
not  always  companions.  But  the  cruelty  that  applies  to 
the  dog  seems  to  be  different  from  any  other  sort.  When 
the  dog  sees  by  your  countenance  or  understands  from 
your  voice  that  he  has  done  wrong  he  throws  himself 
completely  on  your  mercy,  and  if  in  his  struggles  to  get 
away  he  should  bite  your  hand,  the  greatest  favour  you 
can  grant  him  is  to  permit  him  to  lick  the  wound.  Just 


ON  DOGS  75 

look  at  that  dog  now.  No  man  in  the  hot  sun  ever 
thirsted  for  water  more  than  he  thirsts  for  a  kind  word 
from  you. 

"I  was  readin'  in  a  book  where  an  old  man  says  to  a 
king,  'You  can  shorten  all  my  days,  but  you  can't  grant 
me  one  hour  of  life.'  Over  this  dog  you've  got  more 
power  than  that,  for  with  a  word  you  can  kill  his  soul 
or  bring  it  to  life.  You  may  arguy  that  a  dog  hasn't  got 
a  soul,  but  when  a  man  is  possessed  in  a  full  degree  of  the 
very  qualities  exhibited  daily  by  the  average  dog  we 
speak  of  the  development  of  his  soul.  Dogs  fight  over  a 
bone.  Men  fight  over  money.  A  dog  is  deceitful  in 
order  that  he  may  be  more  pleasant  in  the  eyes  of  his 
master.  Man  studies  politeness  and  politeness  isn't 
anything  but  a  creditable  form  of  deceit. 

"A  dog  is  the  only  thing  that  glorifies  his  slavery.  A 
hoss  works  for  what  he  eats.  He's  always  got  his  mind 
on  the  stable.  A  dog  works  to  give  pleasure  to  his  master. 
He  is  the  only  animal  that  enjoys  a  joke  because  the  man 
does.  He  studies  a  man  so  close  that  he  is  a  mind  reader. 
When  you  get  up  of  a  mornin'  he  knows  your  temper  the 
moment  he  sets  eyes  on  you.  Old  man  Cartwright  out 
here  declared  that  his  dog  knew  in  a  moment  when  he  had 
professed  religion;  and  Cartwright  told  me,  says  he, 
'the  dog  quit  chasm'  rabbits  on  Sunday,  after  this.  He'd 
walk  about  the  yard  as  solemn  as  any  presidin'  elder  you 
ever  saw,  but  the  minute  I  cussed  a  cow  and  lost  my 
religion,  one  Sunday,  why  the  dog  he  jumped  over  the 
fence  and  started  out  trackin'  a  rabbit.'  Well,  make 


76  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

friends  with  your  truest  friend  there,  and  go 
ahead." 

The  dog  was  listening.  The  hunter  turned  toward 
him  and  smiled.  The  grateful  animal  leaped  forward 
with  his  eyes  beaming,  strove  to  embrace  his  master,  and 
then,  with  new  spirit,  sprang  over  the  fence  to  take  up 
his  neglected  work.  "Old  gentleman,"  said  the  hunter, 
"I'm  not  as  bad  a  fellow  as  you  think  I  am." 

"Oh,  I  guess  you're  all  right,  but  you  are  so  bent  on 
your  own  enjoyment  that  you  don't  think  enough  of  others, 
and  I  want  to  say  that  dogs  are  others." 


CHAPTER  XIII 
ON  TRUTH 

USUALLY  it  is  age  rather  than  wisdom  that  establishes 
a  man  as  the  oracle  of  a  rural  neighbourhood.  But  some 
times  it  is  a  sort  of  quaintness,  a  readiness  and  an  aptness 
in  the  expression  of  opinion,  and  often  it  requires  more 
judgment  than  is  likely  to  be  found  in  most  communities 
to  detect  the  difference  between  facility  of  speech  and  that 
intellectual  virtue  which  the  ancients  regarded  as  sapience. 
One  night  at  a  social  gathering  to  celebrate  the  golden 
wedding  of  a  justice  of  the  peace  old  man  Brizintine  had 
for  more  than  half  an  hour  held  forth  on  the  beauties  of 
uncompromising  truth  when  Lim  Jucklin  remarked: 

"Yes,  there  are  very  few  things  more  beautiful  than  the 
truth — sometimes.  But  I  don't  know  of  anything  that  has 
given  the  vicious  a  better  opportunity  to  vent  their  spleen 
than  truth  at  all  hazards.  The  man  that  don't  know 
when  to  tell  the  truth  or  to  sidestep  a  trifle  from  it  hasn't 
enough  judgment  to  be  trusted  with  a  dangerous  article." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  said  Brizintine,  "that  truth  is  a 
dangerous  article?" 

"Yes,  sir,  sometimes  as  dangerous  as  gunpowder  in  the 
hands  of  an  idiot.  That  is,  when  truth  is  restricted  to  its 
narrowest  sense,  and  that  is  the  way  that  some  men  insist 

77 


78  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

upon  using  it.  Mack — somebody — I  came  across  him 
somewhere — wanted  to  know  if  there  was  such  a  thing  as 
administerin'  to  a  mind  diseased.  There  is,  and  it  is  the 
withholdin'  from  that  mind  the  true  state  of  its  own 
condition.  A  good  deal  of  the  sickness  of  this  world  is 
in  the  mind  only.  This  don't  make  it  any  the  less  real, 
for  the  mind  is  as  real  as  the  body  and  a  good  deal  more 
so.  We  see  that  a  man's  mind  is  diseased.  He  asks  our 
opinion,  and  if  we  tell  him  the  truth  it  confirms  his  own 
belief  and  makes  him  worse,  and  maybe  a  few  doses  of  our 
truth  will  finish  him.  No  matter  how  big  a  liar  a  feller 
may  be,  we  believe  him  when  he  tells  us  we  ain't  lookin' 
well." 

"I  don't  exactly  follow  you,"  replied  Brizintine,  "but 
wouldn't  you  rather  know  the  truth  on  all  occasions?" 

"Well,  not  perhaps  until  afterward.  I  recollect  that 
one  time  I  went  on  three  notes  for  a  man.  When  the  first 
one  fell  due  the  feller  that  held  all  three  came  to  me  and 
said  that  the  man  I  had  accommodated  had  signed  over 
property  enough  to  meet  the  other  two,  but  that  I  would 
have  to  pay  the  first  one.  It  didn't  amount  to  enough  to 
warrant  me  in  sellin'  my  farm,  so  I  went  to  work  with 
extra  force  and  made  the  money  and  paid  it.  Well, 
about  six  months  afterward  here  came  the  feller  again 
and  said  a  mistake  had  been  made  and  that  it  was  the 
third  note  that  was  to  be  taken  care  of  and  that  I'd 
have  to  pay  the  second  one.  This  shocked  me  a  good  deal, 
but  he  declared  by  all  that  was  good  and  bad  that  the 
third  one  would  give  me  no  trouble,  so  I  strained  again, 


ON  TRUTH  79 

doubled  the  forces  of  my  energy  and  soon  met  the  other 
note  without  sellin'  my  farm.  Then  I  knew  I  was  all 
right;  but,  sir,  in  due  time  here  came  the  holder  of  the 
notes  and  said  that  he  was  sorry  to  have  made  such  a 
mistake  but  that  the  property  set  aside  was  worthless  and 
that  I'd  have  to  pay  the  third  note.  This  hit  me  between 
the  eyes,  but  I  strained  again  and  paid  the  note." 

"But  I  don't  see  where  the  virtue  of  all  that  lyin'  come 
in,"  said  Brizintine. 

"Well,  I  do.  If  it  had  been  made  known  to  me  at 
first  that  I  had  to  pay  the  three  notes  I  would  have  let  my 
farm  go  at  a  forced  sale  and  would  have  been  worse  than 
homeless;  but  as  it  was,  believin'  that  I  could  meet  the 
small  amount,  I  went  to  work  with  a  vim  and  when  I 
got  through  I  found  that  the  surplus  of  my  extra  exertion 
had  put  me  beyond  where  I  had  ever  been  before.  The 
holder  of  the  notes  was  a  wise  man.  He  knew  that  the 
feller  I  had  signed  for  had  left  the  neighbourhood,  dis 
honest  and  broke;  and  he  knew,  also,  that  the  full  knowl 
edge  of  it,  told  to  me  right  off,  would  crush  me.  In  a  way 
he  was  a  liar,  but  both  him  and  me  benefited  by  it. 
There  is  such  a  thing  as  bein'  a  professional  truth  teller 
just  as  there  is  a  professional  honesty.  I  recollect  once 
there  was  a  toll  gate  over  here  on  the  pike,  and  it  was 
kept  by  an  old  man  named  Bowles.  He  and  his  son  worked 
out  in  the  field  while  his  wife  took  care  of  the  gate.  On 
one  occasion  she  went  away  to  look  after  some  young 
chickens  and  left  the  gate  open.  Along  came  a  man  on  a 
boss.  He  helloed  and  no  one  came  out.  Then,  lookin' 


80  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

across  the  field,  he  saw  the  old  feller  and  his  son  at  work 
hoein'  corn;  so  he  got  down  off  his  hoss  and  trudged 
across  the  clods  of  the  field  and  came  up  to  where  Bowles 
was  swettin'  under  the  br'ilin'  sun. 

"'There  wan't  anybody  down  at  the  house  to  let  me 
through  the  gate/  said  he. 

"'That  so?'  the  old  man  inquired,  lookin'  at  him 
sharp. 

"'Yes,  so  I  have  brought  you  the  five  cents.' 

" '  Oh,  you  have/  he  said,  takin'  the  five  cents  and  lookin' 
at  it  as  if  it  was  a  curiosity.  'Nobody  there,  eh?  But 
wan't  the  gate  open?' 

r'Yes,  the  gate  was  open  all  right.' 

'"But  you  wouldn't  ride  through?' 

"'No,  I  didn't.' 

"'And  you  come  trudgin'  all  the  way  across  this  field 
in  the  hot  sun  to  pay  five  cents  ? ' 

"Yes,  sir,  I've  done  that  because  I'm  honest.' 

"The  old  man  turned  to  his  boy  and  called  out:  'Jim, 
watch  this  feller.  He'll  steal  somethin'  before  he  gits 
off  the  place.'" 

Some  of  the  boys  laughed  and  Brizintine  said:  "Well, 
but  the  man  proved  his  honesty." 

"Ah,  hah,  and  that  was  the  trouble:  He  wanted  to 
prove  it.  He  was  too  particular,  and  a  good  many  such 
little  things  were  brought  up  in  his  favour  some  time 
afterward  when  he  was  arrested  for  forgery,  but  they 
proved  it  on  him  and  sent  him  to  the  penitentiary  just 
the  same.  If  honesty  hasn't  become  so  much  of  a  thought- 


ON  TRUTH  81 

less  habit  as  to  be  unconscious  it  will  bear  watchin'. 
There  ain't  nothin'  more  beautiful  than  the  principle  of 
truth,  and  its  highest  aim  is  to  benefit  man.  But  when 
it  is  turned  into  a  profession  they  make  a  sort  of  art  of  it, 
and,  from  what  I  can  gather,  art  as  art  always  goes  a  little 
too  far  to  be  real." 

"But  you  wouldn't  teach  a  son  to  lie  ? "  said  Brizintine. 

"No,  but  I  would  teach  him  truth  so  sly  as  to  make 
him  believe  it  was  born  in  him.  One  bit  of  inherent 
virtue  is  better  than  a  hundred  virtues  acquired.  The 
constitution  we  are  born  with  will  stand  more  of  a  strain 
than  the  one  we  build  up.  You  can  fatten  a  razorback 
hog,  mebby,  just  the  same  as  the  Berkshire,  but  give  him 
a  chance  and  he  will  run  off  his  fat,  because  he  was  born 
that  way.  But  keep  on  a  fattenin'  razorbacks,  and  after 
several  generations  they  will  lose  their  disposition  to  run 
wild.  Gettin'  back  to  truth,  it  ought  to  be  an  uncon 
scious  quality,  like  a  healthy  organ  in  the  body.  A 
man  don't  begin  to  doctor  his  stomach  until  he  feels  that 
he's  got  one,  and  truth  that  needs  medicine  ain't  of  the 
best  sort.  You  know  what  the  Son  of  Man  said  when  they 
asked  him  if  he  would  pay  tribute  to  Caesar.  He  didn't 
say  yes  or  no,  but  he  gave  'em  a  beautiful  figure.  A  blunt 
truth  would  not  have  been  any  truer  and  not  half  so  wise." 

"But,  Uncle  Lim,"  said  a  young  fellow,  "how  about  a 
'possum  dog  that  barks  up  the  wrong  tree  jest  to  encourage 
a  feller?" 

"My  son,"  replied  old  Limuel,  "I've  been  talkin'  about 
men  and  not  dogs." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ON   HORSE   SENSE 

THE  wiseacres  of  the  neighbourhood  were  discussing 
the  question  of  common  sense,  sitting  about  the  black 
smith  shop,  waiting  for  their  horses  to  be  shod,  when  a 
silence  that  had  suddenly  fallen  warned  old  Limuel 
Jucklin  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  say  something. 

"Yes,"  he  remarked,  "good,  hard  horse  sense  is  of  so 
rare  a  quality  that  it  is  nearly  always  taken  for  genius. 
All  that  most  any  man  needs  is  a  little  jedgment,  the  very 
governor  on  the  machinery  of  this  life;  and  bein'  so 
needful  it  is  what  we  seem  to  be  most  lackin'  in.  To 
know  how  to  do  a  thing  isn't  much  more  important  than 
knowin*  what  not  to  do.  Knowin*  when  to  do  it  is  real 
genius.  If  you  cut  your  wheat  before  it's  ripe  you  get 
sappy  straw  for  your  labour.  If  you  wait  too  long  you 
get  but  dry  straw.  Jedgment  comes  from  experience, 
and  common  sense  is  the  wisdom  beat  into  the  heads  of 
men  that  have  gone  before." 

"You  leave  out  education,"  spoke  up  a  schoolmaster. 

"Oh,  no,  I  don't,  for  education  is  the  experience  of 
the  mind.  It  goes  back  beyond  all  books,  and  the  first 
book  must  have  been  written  out  of  experience.  But  to 
read  of  the  common  sense  of  other  men  don't  always  give 

82 


ON  HORSE  SENSE  83 

us  common  sense  of  our  own.  In  my  house  is  a  book 
written  by  a  man  named  Kant;  and  he  calls  it  the  'Critique 
of  Pure  Reason.'  Well,  since  I  have  more  or  less  let  up  on 
hard  work  Fve  given  a  good  deal  of  attention  to  the  books 
that  fortune  and  a  little  lookin'  around  have  thrown  in 
my  way,  but  this  here  one  stumped  me.  I  read  it  forward 
and  I  tried  it  backward,  up  and  down,  and  it  seemed  like 
I  wa'n't  goin'  to  get  a  thing  out  of  it.  My  wife,  seein'  how 
I  was  bothered,  begged  me  to  throw  it  away  and  eat  a 
boiled  dinner  that  she  put  on  the  table.  I  did  eat,  but 
all  the  time  I  was  a  thinkin'  about  that  thing  all  set  out 
there  in  words  plain  enough,  but  what  didn't  appear 
to  have  any  meanin'.  After  dinner  I  took  it  up  again  and 
fought  with  it,  holdin'  it  this  way  and  that,  up  and  down, 
in  the  sun  at  the  window  and  in  the  shade;  but  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I  could  get  at  the  juice  of  it.  Finally,  however, 
I  struck  one  thing  that  paid  me  for  all  my  trouble,  and  it 
was  this,  as  near  as  I  can  remember  it:  'A  man  may 
read  all  books  and  understand  them,  and  he  may  be  able 
to  speak  all  languages,  and  yet  all  this  cannot  atone  for  a 
lack  of  what  we  know  as  mother  wit.'  Mother  wit — 
horse  sense — you  understand." 

"But  how  are  we  to  get  or  rather  I  should  say,  after 
maturer  consideration,  how  are  we  to  proceed  toward  the 
acquirement  of  that  quality  denominated  by  the  great 
German  philosopher  as  mother  wit  ?  "  protested  the  school 
master,  and  old  Lim  replied: 

"I'll  be  blowed  if  I  know." 

"Then  education  is  useless,"  said  the  schoolmaster. 


84  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"Oh,  no,  but  sometimes  it  does  seem  like  an  experiment. 
There  are  two  sorts  of  education,  you  know — one  of 
memory  only  and  one  that  teaches  a  feller  how  to  think 
for  himself.  I  knew  a  feller  that  could  hear  a  sermon 
once  and  could  come  away  and  repeat  every  word  of  it, 
but  he  didn't  have  ability  enough  of  his  own  to  write  a 
notice  and  tack  it  on  a  tree  announcin'  that  he  had  a 
mule  for  sale.  He  was  like  a  blanket  that  is  rained  on. 
You  couldn't  wring  out  of  him  any  more  moisture  than 
fell  on  him.  Yes,  sir,  common  sense  is  mighty  nigh 
everything.  And  when  it  rises  into  a  sort  of  enthusiasm 
it  is  inspiration.  Sometimes  ignorance  takes  fire  and  in 
its  light  we  see  beautiful  pictures.  If  the  man  is  altogether 
unlettered  we  call  him  crazy.  But  if  he  can  write  he  may 
prove  to  be  a  genius.  It  is  a  sudden  lurch  of  common 
sense,  an  overbalancing  as  it  were." 

"Then  you  call  genius  insanity,"  said  the  school 
master. 

"  No,  not  that,  but  it  is  a  sort  of  passion  that  don't  halt 
to  reason  by  slow  means,  but  that  sees  all  reason  in  one 
flash.  Now  there  was  Shakespeare " 

"Written  by  Bacon;  but  proceed,"  broke  in  the  school 
master. 

"I  don't  care  if  it  was  written  by  ham,  lard  or  soap 
grease,  its  sentences  are  staked  off  with  stars,  snatched 
out  of  the  sky  on  a  June  night.  It  took  the  world  several 
hundred  years  to  catch  up,  and  neither  the  railroad  train 
nor  these  pantin'  wagons  that,  bull-eyed,  plunge  across  the 
country  has  outstripped  that  book  yet.  And  what  is  it  ? 


ON  HORSE  SENSE  85 

A  torch  held  high  by  common  sense.  A  lantern  ray 
flung  into  the  black  face  of  human  nature.  Up  shows  a 
grim  countenance,  and  then  we  wonder  how  a  man  could 
have  been  so  smart.  Of  course,  the  man  that  wrote  that 
book  had  to  have  words,  but  common  sense  finds  all  the 
words  that  are  needful  to  its  purposes,  all  the  words  there 
is  if  there  should  be  a  demand  for  them,  and  then  make 
a  few." 

The  schoolmaster  shook  his  head.  "Those  immortal 
plays  were  written  by  a  man  of  the  world,  and  a  world 
man,  of  that  day,  could  have  come  from  no  place  other 
than  a  university." 

"That's  all  right  and  it  may  be  true,  but  the  university 
is  a  premium  put  on  common  sense*  It  is  a  flower  bloomin* 
on  the  top  of  the  buildin'.  And  I  believe  that  it  would  be 
better  for  every  man  and  every  woman  to  go  through 
a  university.  It  is  the  warehouse  of  the  ages.  It  might 
not  teach  us  how  to  make  a  better  livin',  but  it  would 
enable  us  better  to  enjoy  the  livin'  we  have.  I  don't 
believe  in  this  fool  idea  that  ignorance  is  any  ways  kin  to 
bliss.  I  know  what  the  sayin'  is,  where  ignorance  is  bliss, 
and  so  on,  but  the  world  got  it  wrong  and  thought  it  was 
a  plea  for  ignorance.  And  neither  do  I  think  that  a  little 
learnin'  is  as  dangerous  as  much  ignorance.  If  a  man's 
got  little  the  chances  are  that  he'll  get  more.  If  we've 
got  mother  wit,  and  it  has  come  out  of  nature,  let  us 
thank  nature  for  it  and  try  to  improve  it.  But  trace  it  on 
back  and  mebby  you'll  find  that  it  comes  from  some  care 
that  our  forefathers  took  of  themselves.  One  of  these  days 


86  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

we'll  be  forefathers,  and  right  here,  I  want  to  say,  rests 
somethin'  of  a  responsibility.  Let  us  all  try  to  light  up 
the  future  with  common  sense." 

Old  man  Brizintine  said  that  he  was  willing.  He 
was  sure  that  he  was  indebted  to  his  forefathers.  His 
great  grandfather  had  been  noted  as  the  best  horse  trader 
in  the  state,  "and,"  he  added,  "if  it  hadn't  been  for  him 
I  might  not  have  been  such  a  good  judge  of  a  colt." 

"Yes,  might  not  have  been  here  at  all,"  Limuel  spoke 
up.  "But,  not  wishin'  to  do  the  old  man  an  injustice,  I 
may  remark  that  horse  sense  don't  particularly  lend  itself 
to  horse  swappin'.  One  of  the  best  features  of  common 
sense  is  honesty,  and  the  shrewdness  that  is  required  in  a 
horse  trade  is  sometimes  a  twistin'  of  that  quality." 

Brizintine  had  begun  to  swell  with  a  resentful  reply 
when  the  schoolmaster  spoke.  "But  giving  genius  the 
place  of  high  common  sense,  undergoing,  I  might  say, 
some  of  its  own  and  peculiar  evolutions,  don't  you  believe 
that  it  sometimes  goes  through  this  world  unappreciated?" 

"Well,  I  have  heard  folks  say  that  they  wan't  taken  at 
their  worth.  I  know  some  that  haven't  been  taken  at 
their  word.  Recollect  old  Gabner  Hightower,  over  on  the 
creek  ?  He  had  a  son  that  was  a  born  genius.  His  name 
was  Elihu  and  he  looked  it  all  right.  They  didn't  want 
him  to  soil  his  hands  for  fear  that  it  might  smirch  his 
genius.  His  mother  wanted  him  for  the  Church  because 
he  wan't  strong  of  body,  and  his  dad  wanted  him  for  the 
law,  because  his  habit  of  silence  would  prove  him  a  good 
jedge.  In  the  meantime  Jim,  Elihu's  brother,  worked 


ON  HORSE  SENSE  87 

in  the  field.  Well,  they  first  tried  the  pulpit  and  then  they 
tried  the  law,  but  Elihu  had  too  much  genius  for  either 
one.  Then  they  thought  he  was  designed  by  nature  to 
write  hymns,  and  he  tried  his  hand  at  it,  but  failed. 
They  tried  many  things  before  they  found  out  what  he 
had  a  genius  for." 

"And  what  was  it?"  the  schoolmaster  inquired. 

"Well,  nothin'  but  for  just  lookin'  like  a  genius.  And 
Jim,  his  brother,  invented  an  evaporator  for  makin* 
sorghum  molasses  and  now  owns  about  a  third  of  the 
county.  Yes,  sir,  hoss  sense." 


CHAPTER  XV 
ON  WOMEN  REFORMERS 

OLD  Lim  Jucklin  put  aside  his  newspaper,  arose,  stood 
on  the  hearth,  and  remarked  to  his  wife,  who  sat  in  a 
rocking  chair,  half  dreamily  knitting:  "They  must  hire 
folks  by  the  year  to  do  nothin'  else  but  to  write  about 
women." 

"They  want  to  furnish  the  men  somethin'  to  read," 
his  wife  replied. 

"Furnish  the  men  somethin'  to  skip  so's  to  read  some- 
thin*  else,"  said  the  old  man.  "Once  in  a  while  I  read 
'em  though,  and  I've  just  read  a  lot  of  stuff  that  I  know 
wan't  written  by  anybody,  man  or  woman,  that  had 
anything  else  to  do— a  whole  column  and  a  half  tellin' 
how  to  raise  children;  and  I'll  bet  a  steer  it  was  written 
by  an  old  maid." 

"Limuel,  what  are  you  talkin'  about?" 

"An  old  maid,  I  said;  and  one  of  the  sort  that  snatches 
up  her  skirts  and  runs  like  a  turkey  hen  whenever  she  sees 
a  child  a  comin'  toward  her.  Oh,  I  know  their  brand." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  his  wife.  "But  a  woman 
that's  a  raisin'  children  hasn't  got  time  to  write,  and  one 
that  has  them  already  raised  is  so  tired  she  don't  feel 
like  it." 

88 


ON  WOMEN  REFORMERS  89 

"Oh,  I  expected  to  get  it,  one  way  or  another,"  replied 
the  old  man.  "It  was  due  and  I  deserved  it.  But  it 
does  seem  that  the  writers  on  the  subject  of  women  ought 
to  stumble  on  somethin'  new.  But  man  has  been  studyin* 
women — now,  let  me  see.  Well,  particularly  ever  since 
Sampson's  wife  cut  his  hair  off,  and  he  hasn't  stumbled 
on  anything  new  yet.  I've  given  her  a  good  deal  of  my 
time  and  I'm  ready  to  make  my  acknowledgments. 
I've  summed  up  my  account  book.  Two  and  two  make 
four  anywhere  else.  But  with  woman  two  and  two 
sometimes  make  six.  You  can't  tell.  Figgers  don't  lie, 
but  with  her  they  are  mighty  accommodatin'.  And, 
Lord  bless  her,  she  has  finally  discovered  that  man  is  her 
enemy.  The  old  maids  have  told  her  so  and  she  has 
begun  to  believe  it.  Over  here  across  the  creek  the  other 
day  a  party  of  'em  had  a  meetin'  and  resolved  that  man 
was  a  tyrant  and  ought  to  be  ousted.  Old  Miss  Patsy 
Page,  that  has  chased  every  chance  to  get  married  that  she 
could  find  through  a  spyglass  a  comin'  her  way,  was  the 
president.  She  called  attention  to  the  number  of  divorces 
throughout  the  country,  and  she  sighed  over  all  this  waste 
of  raw  material.  She  read  a  paper,  too,  on  how  to  manage 
a  husband.  Bet  she'd  like  to  read  a  book  on  how  to 
catch  one." 

"Limuel,  she's  a  good  woman.  She  sets  up  with  the 
sick." 

"Yes,  and  when  she  does  the  well  folks  catch  it. 
She'd  sour  a  mornin's  milk  by  lookin*  the  cow  in  the  eye." 

"Well,"  replied  the  old  lady,  "she  says  that  you  used  to 


90  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

come  to  see  her,  and  she  has  hinted  that  she  could  have  had 
you." 

"Ha,  if  I'd  married  her  she  would  have  had  me — you 
can  bet  a  settin'  of  eggs  on  that." 

"It  was  the  talk  of  the  neighbourhood  how  you  used  to 
go  to  dances  with  her." 

"Yes,  it  was  the  talk  of  the  neighbourhood  whenever 
anybody  went  with  her  at  all.  Gad,  she  had  a  tongue 
that  would  pick  out  a  briar.  And  now  she  is  a  reformer, 
an  uplifter  of  downtrod  women.  Well,  she  spent  about 
two-thirds  of  her  life  tryin'  to  tread  'em  down.  I  can 
recollect  when  every  girl  in  the  neighbourhood  was  afraid 
of  her.  An  old  gypsy  came  along  one  time  and  had  some 
love  powders  for  sale,  and  Miss  Patsy  she  bought  some 
and  managed  to  give  'em  to  Zeb  Collins.  She  must  have 
given  him  about  half  a  pound  from  the  way  he  acted. 
Went  out  and  hung  over  the  back  fence  and  called  hogs 
for  ten  minutes,  he  did.  After  a  while  when  he  was 
silent  she  looked  out  after  him  and  he  was  a  ketchin'  of 
his  horse.  We  called  him  Bakin'-Powder  Zeb  after  that. 
But  he  didn't  rise." 

"I  don't  believe  she  gave  him  the  powders." 

"No,  just  loaned  'em  to  him.  At  any  rate,  he  got 
'em.  And  now  you  trace  back  some  of  the  biggest  of 
these  women  reformers  and  you'll  find  love  powders  in 
their  lives  somewhere.  There  ain't  nothin'  on  the  earth 
brighter  than  a  bright  woman — and  there's  nobody  the 
Lord  ought  to  shower  his  favours  down  on  more  than  her. 
No  matter  how  good  a  man  is  he  can't  begin  to  ketch  up 


ON  WOMEN  REFORMERS  91 

with  her.  She  is  tenderness,  love,  truth,  religion — all  in 
one.  But  when  she's  pizenous — look  out.  That  is  the 
time  for  Satan  himself  to  dodge.  And  Fll  bet  every  time 
he  sees  old  Miss  Patsy  comin'  he  takes  to  his  flinty  heels. 
When  a  man's  disappointed  with  life  he  generally  tries 
to  keep  it  to  himself.  But  with  a  woman — she  not  only 
wants  it  to  be  known,  but  wants  to  make  others  dis 
satisfied." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Jucklin,  "for  when  a  man's  a  failure 
it's  his  own  fault.  A  woman  could  never  have  helped 
herself." 

"You've  got  me  again  and  I'll  have  to  get  out  the 
best  way  I  can.  Yes,  the  cause  of  failure  lies  with  the 
one  that  has  failed.  It  was  a  lack  of  energy,  a  lack  of 
jedgment — a  lack  of  some  thin'.  A  man  must  make 
circumstances,  but  sometimes  circumstances  won't  be 
made.  Under  the  law  all  men  may  be  born  free,  but  they 
ain't  born  equal.  Neither  minds  nor  constitutions  are 
on  a  par  with  one  another  in  different  men.  Man  ac 
knowledges  this  and  quietly  knocks  under,  takin'  hold  of 
the  next  best  thing  and  doin'  with  it  what  he  can.  I'm 
talkin'  about  the  sensible  man.  But  the  woman — of  the 
Miss  Patsy  stripe — she  does  her  best  and  then  tries  to  get 
even  by  doin'  her  worst.  She  looks  for  happiness  in  the 
misery  of  others.  In  a  sorrowful  countenance  she  finds 
the  reward  of  her  efforts.  She  holds  man  accountable 
for  the  fact  that  she  was  born  a  female.  The  dog  that 
barks  at  the  moon  sees  something  but  the  woman  that 
rails  against  nature  sees  nothin'  but  herself.  I  know 


92  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

that  some  of  the  women  folks  would  like  to  shoot  me  for 
sayin'  it,  but  I  do  say  that  the  mother  of  a  child  is  greater 
than  the  woman  that  makes  a  speech  five  columns  long  and 
has  the  whole  community  talkin'  about  how  smart  she  is." 

"How  about  the  father  of  a  child?  Isn't  he  greater 
than  the  man  that  makes  a  speech?" 

"He  may  be.  About  as  no  account  a  man  as  I  ever 
came  across  could  make  a  speech  for  the  clouds,  I  tell  you. 
But  when  he  got  through  he  was  just  a  seashell  that  the 
musical  wind  had  been  blowin'  into.  That  was  all. 
He  never  had  the  joy  of  carin'  for  a  little  human  bein'. 
He  was  jest  a  feller  that  folks  could  call  great  because  he 
could  talk.  We  may  not  have  a  mission  on  this  earth, 
but  if  we  have  it  is  to  obey  the  lovin'  instincts  of  nature. 
The  man  that  hates  and  the  woman  that  has  no  love  in  her 
heart  are  both  the  enemies  of  nature.  You  may  say  that 
old  Miss  Patsy  would  have  loved  if  the  opportunity  had 
been  given  to  her.  She  would  have  married,  that's  true 
enough;  but  I  don't  believe  she,  nor  any  of  her  ilk,  ever 
had  any  real  love  in  her  heart.  I'm  not  standin'  here 
talkin'  up  for  man.  Bless  you,  he's  hopeless.  He's 
gone  all  the  gaits.  But  the  best  of  us  have  loved  and 
honoured  our  women.  We  haven't  called  them  the  enemies 
of  man  simply  because  nature  set  a  limit  to  our  minds 
and — because  fate,  or  whatever  you  may  call  it,  showed 
us  our  weaknesses.  We've  played  some  cards  and  have 
drunk  a  good  deal  of  liquor,  but  the  best  of  us  have  re 
formed  and  we  hope  the  Lord  has  forgiven  us." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  the  old  lady,  "any  man  is  willing 


ON  WOMEN  REFORMERS  93 

enough  to  ask  the  Lord  to  forgive  him  when  he  knows 
that  it  is  nearly  time  for  him  to  die.  During  all  the  time, 
night  after  night,  while  these  dear  little  ones  that  he 
thought  so  much  of  have  been  growing  up,  he  has  been  off 
at  elections  and  other  things;  and  when  he  gets  old  enough 
to  quit  then  he  talks  about  the  mission  of  nature  and  all 
that  sort  of  stuff.  If  man  doesn't  want  women  to  go 
around  makin'  speeches  why  doesn't  he  marry  her  and 
take  care  of  her  ?  If  he  thinks  that  marriage  is  so  beautiful 
for  a  woman  why  doesn't  he  prove  that  it  is  beautiful 
for  him  ?  Summing  up  my  book,  as  you  summed  up 
yours,  why  doesn't  a  man  learn  earlier  how  to  behave 
himself?" 

"Well,  I  reckon  you've  got  me  again,"  said  the  old 
man. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
ON  WAR  AND  PRAYER 

A  TRAVELLING  evangelist  who  had  halted  for  the  night 
at  old  Lim  Jucklin's  house  had  said  that  he  hoped  to  see 
the  time  when  there  would  be  no  more  war,  when  the  old 
man  remarked: 

"Yes,  and  I  reckon  King  David  hoped  to  see  the  same 
blessed  day.  In  this  life  there  are  two  sets  of  prayers  that 
don't  appear  to  have  had  much  effect — prayer  for  rain  and 
prayer  for  war  to  cease.  But  there  never  was  but  one 
time  when  there  wasn't  no  war  nowhere  on  earth  and 
that  was  when  rain  wasn't  needed.  I  refer  to  the  time 
of  the  flood  when  Noah  held  his  peace  congress  in  the  ark." 

"But  the  time  of  universal  peace  will  come,"  insisted 
the  preacher. 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  old  man,  "when  all  of  the  kinks  have 
been  straightened  out  of  human  nature.  It's  a  mighty 
hard  matter  to  correct  a  thing  that  has  started  off  wrong, 
and  man  seemed  to  have  set  out  with  his  worst  foot  fore 
most.  He  got  hungry  and  he  fought  for  somethin'  to 
eat.  He  fell  in  love  and  he  fought  for  woman,  and  then 
kep  on  fightin'  because  he'd  got  his  hand  in.  And  ever 
since  I  can  recollect  they  have  been  holdin'  peace  con 
gresses  every  once  in  a  while;  and  whenever  they  hold  a 

94 


ON  WAR  AND  PRAYER  95 

right  good  one  a  war  is  sure  to  follow.  One  nation  has 
always  got  somethin'  that  the  other  one  wants.  States 
manship  shows  a  nation  what  it  needs  and  then  the  'soldier 
goes  out  to  get  it.  The  statesman  that  has  avoided  war 
is  nearly  always  put  down  as  a  failure.  If  he  goes  into 
war  and  gets  the  worst  of  it,  then  the  people  know  that  he 
wasn't  a  statesman  after  all." 

"But  I  am  inclined  to  believe,"  said  the  evangelist, 
"that  with  the  passing  of  the  war  between  Russia  and 
Japan  the  great  wars  will  have  come  to  an  end." 

"Yes,  a  big  war  always  has  been  the  last  one.  When 
they  got  the  machine  gun  the  wise  men  said  that  the  end 
of  war  had  come,  and  it  looked  that  way  till  another  war 
came  along  and  asserted  itself,  and  then  it  was  observed 
that  the  machine  gun  didn't  cut  any  very  ugly  capers.  Man 
has  always  shown  sense  enough  to  outwit  the  machine  he 
invents.  Whenever  they  find  that  to  stand  off  five  miles 
is  effective,  they'll  stand  off  five  and  a  half  and  go  a  little 
closer  when  they  want  to  be  desperate.  The  Japs  have 
taught  the  world  that  war  hadn't  quite  reached  the  top 
notch.  Every  age  has  thought  that  it  had  the  best  of 
everything,  but  compared  with  the  time  to  come  every 
age  has  been  a  dark  age.  Ever  since  time  began  the  sun 
has  just  been  comin'  up,  and  no  man  has  lived  in  the  noon 
of  the  world.  He  thought  he  did,  but  his  clock  was  wrong. 
Unfortunately  about  all  he  can  study  with  any  degree  of 
accuracy  is  the  past,  and  you  may  know  all  the  past  and 
yet  be  a  poor  guesser  as  to  the  future.  The  college  is  the 
storehouse  of  the  past,  but  the  little  chap  that  can't 


96  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

talk  yet  is  the  future,  and  you  may  know  all  that  has  been 
said  and  not  foreshadow  what  he  is  goin'  to  say.  There 
ain't  nothin'  that  is  more  of  a  constant  experiment  than 
wisdom  is.  It  keeps  man  on  the  dodge.  The  man  that 
writ  the  'Decline  and  the  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire* 
could  sit  amid  the  ruins  and  look  back  a  thousand  years, 
but  he  couldn't  look  forward  as  far  as  his  eyelash." 

"The  Lord  is  opposed  to  war,"  said  the  minister,  "and 
in  his  own  good  time  will  bring  it  to  an  end." 

"Yes,  in  his  time,  but  not  in  ours.  It  was  said  that  the 
Lord  was  sorry  that  he  made  man,  and  it  ain't  on  record 
that  he  was  ever  glad  again." 

"Limuel  Jucklin,"  said  the  old  man's  wife,  "you 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  talk  that  way,  and  in 
the  presence  of  a  preacher,  too." 

"Sister,"  remarked  the  preacher,  smiling  kindly  ? 
"he  might  as  well  say  it  as  to  think  it,  for  what  a  man 
thinks  he  thinks  in  the  presence  of  the  Lord." 

"There,"  said  the  old  lady,  "what  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

"I  think  it's  all  right,  Susan,  because  I  don't  see  how 
he  could  have  said  anything  else.  But  gettin'  back  to 
the  subject  of  war:  After  we  have  printed  an  extra 
million  or  so  of  tracts  and  blowed  particularly  hard  over 
the  work  of  our  furrin  missions,  we  always  like  to  think 
and  believe  that  the  world  has  been  made  kinder,  that 
even  war  itself  is  more  humane,  that  men  are  killed  in  a 
softer  and  gentler  way  than  before.  And  then  we  read  of 
barbed  wire  and  intrenchments  full  of  spikes  and  secret 


ON  WAR  AND  PRAYER  97 

mines  ready  to  blow  a  whole  division  of  an  army  into  the 
clouds.  But  after  all,  war  is  war,  and  when  a  man's 
killed,  no  matter  whether  it's  with  one  of  these  nice  little 
bullets  or  a  snortin'  minnie  ball,  he's  dead,  and  so  far 
as  he  is  concerned  the  whole  earth  has  been  split  asunder. 
I  recollect  that  while  our  Civil  War  was  a  goin'  on  the 
folks  over  here  at  Ebeneezer  Meetin'  House  used  to  as 
semble  and  pray  for  it  to  end.  Old  Lige  Anderson  was  the 
principal  prayer  and  sometimes  it  seemed  that  he  would 
command  the  Lord.  He  never  came  into  the  house  of 
prayer  that  he  didn't  have  some  special  information  for 
Providence.  Yes,  he  was  goin'  to  hold  the  Lord  person 
ally  accountable  if  the  war  didn't  end  putty  soon.  The 
folks  that  had  been  conservative  with  Providence  after 
a  while  turned  radical,  and  I  remember  that  we  were  all 
mightily  astonished  one  night  when  Lige  he  suddenly 
flopped." 

The  preacher  looked  up  in  astonishment,  and  the  old 
man  explained: 

"To  flop,  you  know,  means  to  make  a  quick  break  for 
the  other  side.  Yes,  Lige  he  flopped.  And  the  cause 
of  his  sudden  turning  was  this:  He  come  into  possession 
of  a  beef  contract  for  the  army.  I  don't  know  whether 
the  Government  got  afraid  that  he  might  have  an  influence 
with  the  heavenly  powers  or  not,  but  at  any  rate  he  got  the 
contract.  And  the  next  meetin'  afterward,  when  old 
Brother  Haskill  had  poured  forth  the  usual  dose  of 
lament  because  the  war  hadn't  come  to  a  close,  why  Lige 
he  suddenly  gets  up  and  without  strikin*  the  usual  attitude 


98  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

of  prayer,  snorts  out:  'Lord,  before  any  action  is  taken, 
I  think  it  might  be  better  to  use  your  own  jedgment  in 
this  matter.  Of  course,  we  would  all  like  to  see  the  war 
close — when  you  feel  that  it  ought  to  close — but '" 

"The  blasphemous  old  beast,"  said  the  evangelist. 

"Well,  yes,"  Limuel  admitted,  "but  it  didn't  sound  so 
then.  And  the  war  lasted  till  old  Lige  he  was  rich;  and 
afterward  I  heard  him  say  how  thankful  he  was  for  what 
the  Lord  had  done  for  him." 

After  a  time  the  preacher  said:     "It  does  not  appear, 
then,  Brother  Jucklin,  that  you  believe  in  the  effective 
ness  of  prayer." 

"Oh,  bless  your  life,  yes.  But  the  greatest  good  it  can 
do  a  man  is  to  make  him  feel  his  dependence  on  the  divine 
will — his  humbleness.  The  man  that  prays  for  somethin' 
he  needs  is  simply  selfish.  I  know  an  old  fellow  that  was 
kneelin'  beside  a  log  off  in  the  woods  prayin'  to  beat 
the " 

"Limuel,"  his  wife  broke  in. 

"To  beat  the  Salvation  Army  Band,  and  everybody 
that  saw  him  was  struck  with  his  piety.  But  I  happened 
to  be  lyin'  off  on  the  other  side  of  the  log,  watchin'  for  a 
wild  turkey,  and  I  hearn  what  the  prayer  was  about. 
And  it  was  simply  a  beggin'  petition  that  he  wanted  the 
Lord  to  grant — wanted  to  make  money  on  a  certain 
venture  that  he  had  set  on  foot.  Tryin'  to  set  up  a  bucket 
shop  in  the  new  Jerusalem.  That  sort  of  prayer  ain't 
half  as  honourable  as  cussin'o  But  don't  understand  me 
to  say  that  prayer  never  does  any  good,  for  it  does:  It 


ON  WAR  AND  PRAYER  99 

makes  a  man  better  able  to  stand  misfortune.  It  doctors 
his  mind  and  fortifies  it  against  sufferin'.  I  know  that 
prayer  rightly  employed  is  a  good  thing  on  the  farm. 
The  most  religious  man  I  ever  saw  raised  the  best  crops. 
Prayed  twice  a  day — night  and  morning." 

"And  the  Lord  blessed  him,"  said  the  preacher. 

"Yes,  sir.  Prayed  night  and  mornin',  but  between 
prayers  he  worked  harder  than  any  man  in  the  neigh 
bourhood.  His  prayer  was  for  strength  so  he  could 
labour.  I  tell  you  that  there  is  many  an  amen  in  good 
digestion  and  many  a  hymn  in  a  muscle.  Yes,  sir;  and 
I  want  to  say  to  you  that  war  will  cease  not  when  the  world 
becomes  more  merciful,  but  when  every  nation  is  so 
well  prepared  that  no  other  nation  can  afford  to  attack  it. 
The  big  battleship  is  the  plea  for  peace." 


CHAPTER  XVII 
ON  THE  YOUNG  HUSBAND 

OVER  at  the  cross-roads  there  had  been  a  wedding. 
Into  the  sunlight  had  come  the  faded  finery,  the  yellow 
lace  and  the  almost  lustreless  silk  that  had  been  hidden 
in  caves  during  the  war.  An  old  man,  who  had  married 
and  buried  generation  after  generation,  had  joined  in 
life's  copartnership  a  young  man  and  a  timid  girl.  The 
couple,  too  much  awed  with  the  new  relationship  to  be 
happy,  sat  in  a  sort  of  daze,  looking  at  each  other.  A 
wagon  was  soon  to  haul  them  to  the  county  seat,  where 
on  an  accommodation  train — half  passenger  and  half 
freight — they  were  to  be  "whirred"  through  one  county 
and  almost  into  the  heart  of  the  next — a  journey  not 
undertaken  without  much  marvel.  The  girl's  mother  had 
wept,  her  father  had  looked  uncomfortable  in  a  shirt 
that  did  not  fit  him,  and  the  old-maidish  sister  had  wrung 
out  a  few  envious  tears.  Old  Limuel  Jucklin  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  company. 

"Well,"  said  he,  speaking  to  the  father,  "a  man  never 
loses  a  daughter,  you  know,  until  she's  dead." 

The  father  nodded  assent,  and  the  mother  said  she 
wished  she  could  think  so.  Limuel  replied  that  she 
could,  and  without  putting  much  of  a  strain  upon  herself. 

100 


ON  THE  YOUNG  HUSBA^t)  101 

"The  experiment  of  every  weddin'  is  the  husband,"  he 
remarked,  looking  at  the  young  man.  "No  matter  how 
wise  he  may  be,  how  good  a  judge  of  a  hoss  and  the 
weather,  somethin'  altogether  different  arises  in  his 
life  when  he  takes  unto  himself  a  wife.  He  thinks  she  is 
the  simple  rule  of  three,  but  before  long  he  finds  out  that 
she  is  all  mathematics,  with  a  side  light  that  dazzles  but 
don't  explain  astronomy." 

Mrs.  Jucklin  spoke  up.  "Limuel,  what  are  you  trying 
to  get  at?  You  would  have  it  appear  that  a  woman  is 
somethin'  not  to  be  understood." 

"Oh,  no;  she  is  perfectly  plain  and  so  is  sunshine, 
but  nobody  can't  pick  it  up  and  examine  it  to  his  own 
satisfaction.  Woman's  all  right.  It's  the  young  husband 
that  I'm  gettin'  at — if  I  can.  Marriage  is  a  time  when  a 
mote  gets  into  the  eye  of  all  experience.  Things  are  looked 
at  through  winks — half  light  and  half  dark;  makin'  a 
sort  of  twilight  for  the  soul;  and  in  the  golden  dusk  every 
thing  looks  different  from  what  it  really  is.  Marriage  was 
made  to  protect  woman,  and  havin'  been  cut  out  for  her 
like  a  garment,  it  fits  her." 

"But  don't  it  fit  a  man,  too?"  the  bride  timidly  in 
quired. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  with  a  takin'  in  here  and  a  lettin'  out 
there,"  the  old  man  replied.  "The  man  is  the  one  that 
has  to  be  tamed.  He  has  to  be  broke  in  and  made 
bridle  wise,  like  a  colt.  With  him  marriage  is  an  end; 
with  her,  a  beginnin'.  Do  you  follow  me?" 

"No,  I'm  afraid  not,"  said  the  bride. 


102     1  (\     :    OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"I  thought  not.  But  what  do  you  think,  Billie?" 
This  was  addressed  to  the  bridegroom. 

"Don't  know  exactly.  All  I  know  is  I  love  Sallie  and 
will  always  love  her,"  and  the  pretty  eyes  of  the  bride  with 
silent  music  sang  out,  "now  there." 

"I  don't  doubt  that/''  said  the  old  man.  "But  the 
mornin'  sun  is  a  shinin'  on  you  now  and  the  noontime 
of  trial  hasn't  come.  But  it  will  come.  This  beautiful 
book  you  now  possess  is  shown  to  you  only  a  page  at  a 
time.  You  can't  turn  over  the  leaves  and  look  at  the 
pictures  of  the  future.  The  plot  must  come  to  you  a  line 
at  a  time.  The  fact  is,  you've  got  to  draw  your  own 
pictures  for  the  book.  Some  of  them  will  be  painted  and 
some  made  with  charcoal." 

"I  wish  the  wagon  would  come,"  spoke  up  the  bride 
groom,  glancing  through  the  window. 

"Yes,  we  start  out  a  waitin'  for  the  wagon,"  replied  the 
old  man. 

"And  we  end  silently  lying  within  its  gloomy  precincts," 
said  the  old  minister. 

"Gracious  me!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jucklin,  "are  they 
goin'  to  preach  a  funeral  right  here  ? " 

Old  Liinuel  laughed.  "I'm  not.  I'm  just  tryin' 
to  give  Billie,  there,  a  little  bit  of  advice.  And  as  I 
was  goin'  to  remark,  I  don't  know  of  anything  that 
stands  more  in  need  of  common  sense  than  marriage — 
the  young  husband,  I  might  say.  He  is  as  raw  as  unginned 
cotton.  He  begins  by  yieldin'  to  every  persuasion  and 
after  a  while  rebels  against  himself.  A  woman  never 


ON  THE  YOUNG  HUSBAND  103 

understands  why  she  should  surrender  a  territory  that  has 
graciously  been  presented  to  her.  And  the  sweetest  of 
all  territories  is  the  enjoyment  of  the  spare  time  of  her 
husband.  She  finds  her  mellowest  pleasure  in  his  society, 
and  can't  very  well  understand  why  she  doesn't  supply 
his  every  want.  He  has  told  her  time  and  again  that  she 
did.  But  there  comes  a  time  when  he  wants  to  stay  out 
at  night,  to  sniff  the  air  of  his  former  reckless  freedom. 
It's  his  nature.  It  was  her  nature  as  an  obedient  daughter 
to  stay  at  home  of  nights.  And  when  she  finds  that  she 
hasn't  been  strong  enough  to  remodel  his  nature  she 
grieves  in  her  soul." 

"Many  a  night  I've  sat  up  waitin'  for  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Jucklin. 

"Yes,  but  I  came,  didn't  I?" 
"Yes,"  she  admitted,  "but  at  what  time?" 
"Oh,  I  didn't  have  to  keep  track  of  the  time.  But 
I  want  to  say  to  Billie  that  stayin'  out  at  night  is  one 
of  the  worst  habits  a  man  can  fall  into.  It  is  the  dark 
side  of  married  life.  No  matter  how  truthful  a  man 
may  have  started  out,  it  makes  him  more  or  less  of  a  liar. 
Midnight  and  the  truth  ain't  twins.  And  a  man  hasn't 
reformed  when  he  cusses  himself  for  bein'  a  fool.  The 
wisest  man  feels  he  is  a  fool  when  he  stays  out  too  late. 
There  ain't  no  reproach  more  fetchin'  than  to  see  the 
moon  a  fadin'  away  in  the  heavens.  Of  course,  a  man 
can't  stay  at  home  all  the  time.  The  fact  is,  I'll  be  hanged 
if  I  know  what  he  is  to  do.  I'm  not  talkin'  about  the 
saint,  but  the  flesh-and-blood  man.  You  may  try  all  you 


104  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

please  to  make  a  hymn  of  life,  but  the  first  thing  you  know 
a  jig  tune  pops  in.  So,  Billie,  when  you  catch  yourself 
inclined  to  whistle  too  many  of  the  jigs,  stop  and  ask 
yourself  if  they  pay  in  the  long  run.  I  don't  mean  that 
you  should  be  serious.  Nothin'  is  gained  by  bein'  solemn. 
David  is  remembered  as  well  for  havin'  danced  before 
the  ark  as  for  some  of  his  psalms  wherein  he  wanted  the 
Lord  to  wipe  out  a  whole  lot  of  folks.  Have  all  the  fun 
you  can,  but  recollect  it  ain't  the  healthiest  of  fun  if  you 
have  to  lie  about  it  to  your  wife.  The  old  idea  that  a  man 
is  excusable  for  lyin'  to  his  wife  ain't  a  good  one.  Com 
panions  ought  to  be  as  truthful  with  each  other  as  they 
can.  And  above  all,  Billie,  don't  let  your  wife  ketch 
you  in  a  lie.  This  is  about  as  bad  a  thing  as  can  happen, 
for  always  afterward  no  excuse  will  be  valid.  I'd  almost 
as  soon  be  convicted  of  perjury  as  to  have  my  wife  ketch 
me  in  a  lie.  You  may  be  able  to  lie  out  of  a  lie  to  a  man, 
but  when  a  woman  gets  the  notion  you  are  a  liar  you  are 
so  far  as  she  is  concerned,  no  matter  how  big  may  be  your 
reserve  fund  of  truth.  When  you  have  lied,  and  she  has 
caught  you,  I  am  not  at  all  certain  that  a  generous  ac 
knowledgment  will  pay.  And  yet  if  you  stick  to  it  a 
long  time  must  pass  before  you  can  live  it  down.  A 
woman's  memory  is  like  the  sun — it  rises  fresh  every 
mornin'.  Sometimes  a  simple  lie  is  a  fingerboard 
pointin'  toward  the  courthouse  where  they  keep  divorces. 
A  woman  may  admire  a  man  because  he's  a  good  dancer, 
but  in  her  heart  she  loves  truth  and  honour.  So,  be  as 
truthful  as  you  can,  and  when  you  find  that  you  have 


ON  THE  YOUNG  HUSBAND  105 

exhausted  your  stock  ask  her  to  help  you  to  replenish  it. 
Make  a  distress  of  your  scarcity  of  truth  and  she  will 
be  pleased  to  nurse  it.  It  will  do  her  good.  Marriage 
may  start  out  as  a  picnic,  you  know,  but  a  picnic  has  its 
cold  victuals.  To  sum  the  whole  thing  up,  do  the  best 
you  can.  Be  patient.  Remember  that  you  are  a  man 
and  that  the  foot  of  a  man  is  nearly  always  on  the  verge 
of  slippin'.  And  when  it  has  slipped  put  it  back  with 
as  little  noise  as  possible.  Tell  the  truth  just  as  often 
as  you  can,  and  you  will  find  it  an  investment  that  draws 
compound  interest  in  gold." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
ON  WEALTH 

AT  the  schoolhouse  there  had  been  a  lecture  in  sweeping 
denunciation  of  all  wealth.  Shaking  his  black  mane  and 
seeming  to  pop  his  forefinger,  the  lecturer,  in  a  sort  of 
frenzy,  had  declared  the  dollar  to  be  the  enemy  of  the 
human  race.  There  was  no  hotel  in  the  neighbourhood, 
so  the  lecturer  went  home  with  old  Limuel  Jucklin. 
Several  of  the  neighbours  dropped  in.  Having  been 
dazzled  by  the  speaker,  they  wondered  if  Limuel  were  to  be 
"flashed  into  silence."  The  speaker,  Professor  Conners, 
had  been  pleased  with  his  audience.  He  had  not  been 
able  to  distinguish  the  difference  between  acquiescence  and 
dumb  astonishment.  Beside  the  Jucklin  fireside  he  would 
continue  the  conquest.  He  regarded  himself  as  a  factor 
in  the  coming  revolution,  and  he  knew  that  all  great 
revolutions  begin  at  the  hearthstone. 

"I  always  like  to  hear  a  man  talk  when  he  appears  to 
believe  what  he  has  to  say,"  remarked  old  Lim.  "The 
fact  that  the  fiddler  is  in  earnest  adds  a  good  deal  to  the 
quality  of  the  fiddlin*.  But  a  man  may  be  sincere  and  at 
the  same  time  fiddle  out  a  tune  that  there  ain't  much 
music  in.  So,  Professor,  you  say  that  the  dollar  is  the 
curse  of  the  human  race?" 

106 


ON  WEALTH  107 

"Well,  yes,  I  may  so  concentrate  the  trouble  of  the 
world  into  the  dollar." 

"Ah,  hah.  But  don't  you  think  that  the  dollar  repre 
sents  the  concentration  of  man's  incentive  to  work? 
The  greatest  curse  that  could  fall  upon  man  would  be 
idleness.  In  all  ages,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  gather, 
work  has  been  the  salvation  of  man.  Enjoyments  and  all 
sorts  of  sports  and  pleasures  wear  out,  but  labour  en 
dures." 

"You  forget,"  said  the  Professor,  "that  labour  was 
first  put  upon  man  as  a  penalty,  as  a  curse  for  dis 
obedience." 

"No,  I  don't  forget  that.  I  don't  forget  that  it  may 
appear  that  way.  But  Adam  wa'n't  thoroughly  satisfied 
with  idleness.  If  he  had  been  he  would  have  let  good 
enough  alone.  He  wouldn't  have  eaten  tke  forbidden 
fruit  when  Eve  offered  it  to  him.  He  didn't  have  any 
thing  to  occupy  his  mind  and  he  yielded.  But  leavin'  the 
things  that  we  can  never  know  much  about  and  comin' 
down  to  man  of  to-day,  we  see  the  virtue  of  work  and 
the  evil  of  idleness.  Money  is  the  essence  of  industry. 
Without  it  all  life  would  be  confusion." 

"But  the  love  of  it  has  been  aptly  termed  the  root  of  all 
evil,"  said  the  Professor. 

The  neighbours  looked  at  Jucklin,  and  old  Brizintine 
silently  pressed  a  dollar  which  he  had  received  that  day 
for  the  hire  of  a  horse  and  breathed  hard. 

"Yes,"  admitted  Lim,  "that's  so.  But  the  love  of 
money  ain't  money  itself — ain't  the  use  of  it.  We  com- 


108  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

mend  a  man  for  savin'  his  dollars,  but  if  every  man  were 
to  save  to  the  very  closest  life  would  hardly  be  worth 
livin'.  That's  where  an  abundance  of  money  comes  in  as 
a  virtue  whereas  a  little  money  might  be  an  evil.  When 
we  have  a  great  deal  we  are  inclined  to  spend,  and  this 
makes  others  prosperous.  Out  of  wealth  grows  leisure 
and  out  of  leisure  there  grows  and  blooms  a  very  precious 
plant.  Its  name  is  knowledge.  Money  is  the  mother  of 
science  and  therefore  of  health.  It  ain't  true  that  poverty 
is  always  blessed  with  good  digestion.  Poverty  is  not 
cleanliness  and  therefore  is  not  next  to  godliness.  Poverty 
is  a  crime,  not  restin'  on  the  individual,  perhaps,  but  havin' 
its  cause  somewhere  among  the  errors  of  those  who  went 
before.  I  see,  Professor,  that  you  are  rather  apt  in  citin' 
the  Bible.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  money  the  book  would 
be  locked  up  in  a  few  places.  As  it  is,  money  has  given 
it  to  the  poor.  And,  gettin'  down  a  little  closer  to  the 
Bible,  it  appears  to  me  that  about  all  the  Lord's  most 
favoured  servants  were  rich.  On  one  man  He  smiled  and 
his  cattle  increased." 

"Very  true,"  admitted  the  Professor,  "but  don't  you 
believe  that  in  America  the  present  struggle  for  money 
is  about  to  ruin  the  country?" 

"When  men  race  at  full  speed  for  money  they  drop  out 
some  that  is  already  in  their  pockets,  and  those  who  pick 
it  up  profit  by  it.  And,  when  the  end  of  the  mad  race  is 
about  reached,  the  racer  halts,  draws  a  long  breath  and 
then  decides  to  build  a  college  or  to  found  a  library. 
He  wants  to  leave  a  footprint.  He  wants  to  be 


ON  WEALTH  109 

remembered  by  the  racers  who  are  to  come  after 
him." 

"Ah,"  sighed  the  Professor,  "but  how  about  those 
who  are  run  over — whose  lives  are  crushed  out?  How 
about  the  millions  that  are  ground  down?  How  about 
the  man  who  is  not  willing  that  labour  should  have  its 
due?" 

"He  is  an  evil  until  he  is  dead,  and  then  he  may 
become  a  blessin',"  old  Lim  replied.  "Poverty- 
stricken  men  have  committed  murder.  But  murder  is 
not  the  principle  of  the  poor.  Riches  have  oppressed, 
have  been  heartless,  but  that  is  not  the  spirit  of 
money.  Money  is  every  man's  servant.  If  he  permits 
it  to  become  his  master  he  suffers  for  it.  Money  dis 
covered  America,  and  you  must  admit  that  this  country 
has  been  a  blessin'  to  the  human  race.  Columbus  was 
looking  for  a  road  over  which  he  could  transport  wealth. 
Men  seeking  for  fortunes  have  made  about  all  the  dis 
coveries  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  The  rudder  of  the 
ship  is  the  universal  tongue  of  the  gospel.  Science  may 
sail  and  discover  and  come  back  and  report;  but  com 
merce  halts  and  builds  up  the  country." 

Then  the  Professor  thought  to  sound  a  deadener  with 
the  following:  "But  do  you  think  it  right  to  marry  for 
money?" 

"Well,"  drawled  the  old  man,  winking  slyly  at  one 
of  his  neighbours,  "not  unless  you  love  the  woman  that 
has  money.  Most  of  men  love  women  on  account  of 
beauty  or  some  other  attraction,  and  money  has  the  faculty 


110  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

of  makin'  both  men  and  women  powerful  handsome.  I 
recollect  an  old  maid  that  used  to  live  not  far  from  here. 
She  was  so  ugly  that  hosses  would  get  scared  at  her.  And 
her  homeliness  waVt  goodness,  either.  She  had  a  dis 
position  like  a  porcupine.  No  matter  from  what  direction 
you  might  approach  her,  there  was  a  quill.  Folks  didn't 
like  to  pass  her  house,  for  she'd  come  out  on  the  veranda 
and  shout  vitriol  at  them.  The  hip  bones  of  poverty 
stuck  up  through  her  farm.  She  just  about  made  a 
iivin'.  But  one  day  her  old  uncle  died,  report  said,  and 
left  her  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Then  the  folks 
began  to  travel  by  her  house.  Some  of  them  stopped  to 
pay  their  respects.  Among  them  was  'Squire  Goodall. 
He  pretended  that  he  hadn't  heard  of  her  good  fortune. 
He  asked  her  how  her  uncle  was  gettin'  along,  and  re 
marked  that  if  she  needed  a  side  of  bacon  or  two  he  would 
willingly  fetch  it  over  to  her.  She  beamed  on  him  and 
he  dodged,  but  stood  it.  He  told  her  he'd  like  to  make 
her  a  present  of  his  horse,  and  she  thanked  him  and  took 
it,  and  he  walked  home.  He  dreamed  about  her  that 
night  and  it  was  a  nightmare,  but  he  decided  that  he  was 
in  love  with  her.  Two  days  later  he  went  back  and  made 
her  a  present  of  a  cow.  She  smacked  her  mouth  and 
took  the  cow,  and  'lowed  he  was  the  sweetest  man.  He 
thought  so,  too,  but  didn't  say  so.  Well,  shortly  after 
ward,  he  proposed  and  she  accepted  'him.  They  were 
married  and  the  folks  came  in  to  drink  cider  and  eat  ginger 
cake.  Just  after  the  ceremony  up  comes  a  feller  an* 
says  to  her:  'Miz  Goodall,  I  was  in  the  Sycamore 


ON  WEALTH  111 

country  the  other  day  and  met  your  old  uncle,  and  he  told 
me  to  tell  you  that  he  was  mighty  in  need  of  help  and  that 
he  wished  you  would  send  him  a  dollar  or  so  if  you  could 
spare  it.' 

"'What  uncle  is  that?'  the  new  husband  inquired;  and 
the  wife  answered:  'Why,  the  one  that  was  reported 
dead  some  time  ago.  Poor  man;  I  think,  lovey,  we'd 
better  send  him  a  cow/ 

*'  Goodall  sneezed  out  some  ginger  cake  and  was  never 
known  to  smile  after  that.  So,  you  see,  Professor,  even 
the  love  of  money  did  good  in  that  instance.  '  It  got  a 
husband  for  a  deservin'  woman." 


CHAPTER  XIX 
ON  THE  COMMERCIAL  TRAVELLER 

AT  a  party  over  at  old  Brizintine's  one  night  they  were 
talking  about  the  progress  of  the  world.  There  were 
present  all  of  the  wise  men  of  the  community.  Medicine 
was  represented  by  "Doc"  Peters,  horse  surgeon;  the  law 
by  Anthony  Botts,  justice  of  the  peace;  sculpture  by 
Rufe  Goodall,  stone-quarry  man;  art  by  Miss  Nancy 
Hodge,  drawer  of  a  map  of  the  county;  literature  by 
Stephen  Blue,  writer  of  for  sale  notices  and  epitaphs;  the 
ministry  by  the  Reverend  Gustavus  Nudge — and  agri 
culture  by  Limuel  Jucklin.  So,  it  may  be  seen,  that  here 
was  assembled  a  goodly  twentieth  century  company, 
prepared  by  experience  and  stimulated  by  education  to 
discourse  upon  any  subject. 

"The  tire  revolves  faster  than  the  hub,"  said  the  minis 
ter,  Mr.  Nudge,  "and  it  is  but  natural  that  we,  now  on  the 
outer  rim  of  time,  should  move  with  more  accelerated 
motion  than  our  forefathers,  who  were  nearer  the  centre, 
so  to  speak.  Ah,  Brother  Jucklin,  what  changes  have 
taken  place  since  we  can  remember." 

"Yes,"  replied  old  Lim,  "a  good  many.  I  can  recollect 
when  we  had  to  go  of  a  mornin'  to  a  neighbour's  house  for 
a  chunk  of  fire.  Wa'n't  any  matches." 

112 


ON  THE  COMMERCIAL  TRAVELLER   113 

Miss  Nancy  Hodge,  elevating  her  eyebrows,  exclaimed : 
"For  pity  sake." 

"Yes,"  said  old  Lim,  "and  the  chances  were  that  the 
feller  that  was  sent  after  the  chunk  of  fire  would  be  drunk 
before  he  got  back.  Everybody  kept  liquor  in  the  house, 
and  if  a  feller  stopped  and  helloed  at  the  gate  they'd  ask 
him  to  get  down  and  take  a  drink." 

"In  the  matter  of  whisky  there  has  been  great  reform 
and,  I  may  therefore  say,  progress,"  remarked  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Nudge. 

Limuel  nodded  assent.  "But,"  said  he,  "the  reform 
has  been  with  man  and  not  with  liquor.  The  greatest 
good  that  whisky  has  done  is  to  be  so  mean  that  nobody 
wants  it.  But  I  can  remember  when  it  was  the  milk  in  the 
cocoanut  of — of  paradise,  I  tell  you.  In  comparison  to 
what  it  is  now,  Parson,"  he  added,  to  soften  the  remark, 
which  he  was  quick  to  observe  had  somewhat  disturbed 
the  countenance  of  the  preacher,  "but,  Parson,  do  you 
know  what  has  done  more  toward  the  civilising  of  us  all 
than  any  other  agency?" 

Modesty  restrained  Mr.  Nudge  from  mentioning  what, 
in  his  opinion,  was  the  real  cause,  so  he  hazarded  the  one 
word  "education." 

"That's  all  very  well,"  said  Lim,  "but  there's  a  shorter 
way  of  gettin'  at  it.  I  should  say  the — drummer." 

The  minister  winced  as  if  he  had  suddenly  bitten  into  a 
pickle  too-  sour  for  him. 

"Yes,  sir,  the  man  that  goes  about  and  sells  goods," 
said  Lim.  "He  has  the  progress  of  the  world  buckled 


114  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

up  in  his  sample  case.  He  is  the  circuit  rider  of  trade. 
He  not  only  brings  what  the  people  already  want,  but 
teaches  them  to  need  things;  and  the  man  that  shows 
us  what  we  need  moves  us  forward  a  good  many  degrees. 
Take  our  town  over  here.  For  more  than  fifty  years  the 
churches  had  been  in — full  blast — pardon  the  expression — 
and  the  schools  had  been  in  operation;  and  yet  the  hotels 
were  so  bad  that  a  hungry  dog  might  be  excused  for 
giving  it  the  go-by.  Why,  whit  leather  was  as  tender  as 
a  lamb's  tongue  compared  with  the  beefsteak.  The 
biscuits  were  just  about  as  digestible  as  door  kn-obs. 
The  salt  pork  might  properly  have  been  labelled 
'the  enemy  of  mankind/  The  butter  looked  as  if 
it  had  been  made  of  the  milk  of  a  cow  that  had 
just  seen  a  ghost.  What's  the  name  of  that  place 
where  they  used  to  torture  folk  —  the  Inquisition  ? 
Yes.  Why,  if  a  man  had  been  snatched  out  of  the 
Inquisition  and  put  into  that  hotel  he  would  have 
complained  of  the  change.  And  the  stores  around 
the  square.  Here  pig  pens,  ornamented  by  a  dry-goods 
box  outside.  Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  found  by  the 
drummer  when  he  came  along.  Mind  you,  no  other 
reform  had  been  able  to  touch  it;  and  why?  Because  the 
people  didn't  know  any  better.  But  the  drummer 
showed  them  that  the  other  parts  of  the  world  didn't  live 
that  way.  He  didn't  get  up  and  make  reform  speeches. 
He  stabbed  it  with  his  quaint  humour.  He  turned  on  the 
flashlight  of  real  civilisation.  He  made  'em  build  a  rail 
road.  He  compelled  'em  to  put  in  electric  lights  so  that 


ON  THE  COMMERCIAL  TRAVELLER     115 

the  people  comin'  home  from  church  at  night  wouldn' 
run  over  the  hogs  in  the  street." 

Mr.  Nudge  sighed  and  sadly  shook  his  head.  "  I  grant 
much  of  that,"  he  admitted,  "but  vanities  were  also 
introduced." 

"Vanities!"  echoed  Limuel.  "Brother,  there  ain't 
no  meaner  vanity  in  this  world  than  the  vanity  of  igno 
rance.  A  man  may  be  vain  and  never  take  a  bath,  but 
we  are  told  that  cleanliness  is  next  to  godliness.  The 
drummer  brought  in  new  styles,  but  there's  no  more 
vanity  in  a  new  style  than  an  old  one.  He  compelled  the 
hotel  to  clean  up  and  to  get  beefsteak  that  could  be  eaten; 
and  show  me  a  neighbourhood  that  has  bad  meat  and  at 
the  same  time  you  have  pointed  out  a  community  where 
religion  is  at  a  low  ebb." 

"But  you  must  agree,"  Mr.  Nudge  interposed,  "that 
our  young  men  have  been  inspired  with  a  spirit  of  un 
rest." 

"Yes,  I  acknowledge  that,"  said  Lim.  "And  a  spirit 
of  unrest  is  the  first  step  toward  advancement.  The 
young  fellers  saw  that  they  needed  a  better,  a  more  prac 
tical  education,  and  they  set  about  to  get  it.  If  there  is 
a  better  teacher  than  experience  it  is  example.  Envy  as 
generally  understood  may  be  a  bad  thing,  but  it  is  active 
envy  that  makes  the  world  move  forward.  The  drummer 
brought  stories  with  him.  They  illustrated  life.  A 
community  that  has  only  old  stories  lives  in  the  past. 
The  drummer's  new  stories  quickened  the  intellect. 
They  made  the  mind  jump.  Trade " 


116  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"Ah,"  Mr.  Nudge  broke  in.  "I  thank  you  for  the 
timely  introduction  of  that  well-worn  word.  You  would 
place  trade  above  everything." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  place  it  below  everything.  Trade 
is  the  exchange  of  materialised  ideas.  It  is  the  circulating 
blood  of  a  nation.  Art  is  a  sort  of  fever  and  marks 
disease.  Literature  is  a  prescription,  and  if  it  don't  help 
life  fails  to  do  it  any  good.  I  want  to  tell  you,  a  drummer 
first  set  me  to  readin'.  Of  course  I  knew  what  books  were. 
But  I  thought  that  when  a  man  got  along  well  in  life  he 
ought  to  think  of  everything  except  books.  They  were 
for  boys  and  girls.  But  this  drummer  that  stayed  all 
night  at  my  house  said  that  the  greatest  books  had  been 
written  by  old  men.  Therefore  they  ought  to  be  read  by 
old  men.  He  opened  up  a  new  view  of  life.  He  showed 
me  that  as  long  as  a  man  lived  and  kept  his  health  he 
could  develop  and  expand.  He  left  a  book  with  me,  and 
it  wa'n't  long  before  I  discovered  that  I  had  just  begun  to 
live.  This  man  sold  things — and  in  meeting  men  came 
away  from  them  with  a  better  knowledge  of  human  nature. 
Knowing  so  much  of  the  weakness  of  man,  he  could  better 
admire  his  strength  or  pardon  his  faults." 

"But  you  are  forgetting  the  Gospel,"  said  Mr.  Nudge. 

"Oh,  no.  The  drummer  is  a  good  exemplification  of 
the  Gospel.  He  goes  into  all  the  world.  The  Gospel 
was  never  commanded  to  stand  still.  It  is  a  running 
stream.  Stagnant  water  breeds  pestilence.  The  Saviour 
of  man  was  the  most  liberal  man  that  ever  lived.  He 
had  no  home.  The  drummer  is  liberal  because  his  home 


ON  THE  COMMERCIAL  TRAVELLER     117 

is  the  world.  He  meets  a  local  prejudice  and  turns  it  into 
a  national  liberality.  He  demands  a  place  where  he  may 
spend  his  leisure  hours,  and  public  libraries  mark  his 
course.  The  unrest  you  speak  of  has  stimulated  travel, 
and  travel  is  the  picture  that  goes  in  the  book  of  education. 
The  drummer  must  be  active  and  therefore  he  must  be 
sober.  His  achievement  over  drunken  competition  is  the 
greatest,  the  most  vivid  temperance  lecture  ever  delivered. 
It  makes  sobriety  a  business  rather  than  a  mere  inactive 
virtue.  What  are  you  fetchin'  on  here,  Madame? 
Lemonade?  We'll  drink  it  to  the  drummer." 


CHAPTER  XX 
ON  THE  FARMER 

COLONEL  HENRY  BALCH,  having  acquired  his  military 
title  from  his  successful  shaving  of  notes,  and  having 
taken  his  place  at  the  crest  of  society  in  consequence  of  the 
few  thousands  of  dollars  held  tight  within  his  grasp,  halted 
at  the  house  of  Limuel  Jucklin  and  inquired  of  the  old 
man  if  he  desired  to  sell  a  red  steer  that  was  walking  about 
a  small  enclosure  as  if  he  owned  the  place. 

"Get  down,"  called  out  Jucklin,  "come  in  and  we'll 
talk  it  over." 

The  Colonel  dismounted  from  his  old  nag,  came 
forward  and  seated  himself  on  a  hide-bottomed  chair  in 
the  hallway  that  ran  between  the  two  sections  of  the  old 
log  house.  Limuel  resumed  his  seat  in  an  Andrew 
Jackson  rocker  made  of  hickory  saplings.  "Well,  how 
are  things  out  your  way  ?"  he  asked  of  his  visitor. 

The  Colonel,  loosening  a  red  woolen  scarf  from  about 
his  Adam's-appled  throat,  remarked  that  everything  was 
at  a  standstill,  as  the  farmers  must  wait  on  the  humour 
of  nature  before  they  could  do  anything.  "I  was  just 
thinking  as  I  came  along,"  said  he,  "that  the  farmer's 
is  the  hardest  life  of  all.  I've  heard  a  good  deal  of  talk 
ever  since  I  can  remember  about  the  freedom  of  the 

118 


ON  THE  FARMER  119 

country,  but  I  haven't  found  it.  They  tell  me  that  my 
life  has  been  a  success,  but  I  don't  know." 

"  I  think  I  do  know/'  the  chicken  fighter  replied. 

The  Colonel,  expecting  a  compliment,  smiled  upon  him 
and  said  "Yes?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do  know.  It  has  been  about  as  near 
a  failure  as  any  man's  life  could  be." 

"Why,  Jucklin,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  when  a  man  at  your  time  of  life  regrets 
havin'  lived  his  life,  he  is  a  failure.  That's  what  I  mean. 
You  are  lamentin'  on  behalf  of  the  farmer,  but  you  don't 
represent  him.  He  lives  close  to  nature,  but  your  struggle 
has  been  to  get  away  from  it.  You  are  a  fence-corner 
speculator." 

"Everybody  grants  you  the  privilege  of  saying  what  you 
please,  so  go  ahead." 

"Much  obliged.  Now,  let  us  look  at  him  for  a  mo 
ment.  The  farmer  ranges  nearly  over  all  the  landscape 
of  life.  In  him  all  of  the  emotions  of  human  nature  are 
embodied.  His  world  is  his  neighbourhood,  and  every 
community  contains  every  shade  of  the  human  mind,  unde 
veloped  but  there  in  the  rough,  you  might  say.  Children 
and  old  people  love  the  country." 

"Yes,  but  about  that  red  steer." 

"All  right.  We'll  get  to  him  pretty  soon.  The  man 
who  has  worked  on  a  farm  all  his  life  has  just  as  many 
pleasures  to  look  back  upon  as  the  city  merchant.  The 
farmer  may  in  his  time  have  bought  the  gold  brick,  but 
maybe  the  merchant  has  been  taken  in  by  a  bigger  swindle. 


120  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

And  along  toward  the  end  they  both  have  somethin'  to 
think  about.  And  that  is  about  all  there  is  to  life — 
somethin'  to  think  about.  At  a  very  early  age  we  begin 
to  live  in  the  past.  The  farmer  has  his  past  closer  about 
him  than  other  men  have.  They  have  seen  the  same 
seasons  pass  over  the  same  endeared  fields." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  the  Colonel  admitted.  "  Now,  what 
will  you  take  for  that  steer  ?  I  am  in  something  of  a  hurry." 

"  All  right.  I  don't  know  of  a  finer  steer  anywhere  than 
that  one.  But  just  wait  a  moment.  Let's  go  at  the  farmer 
a  little  closer.  In  a  small  way  the  successful  farmer  is  a 
statesman.  Experience  is  his  guide,  and  we  are  told  that 
all  wisdom  dates  back  to  experience.  It  is  true  that  he 
doesn't  handle  as  much  money  as  the  banker,  nor  does  he 
handle  as  much  bread  as  the  baker,  but  the  baker  can  eat 
only  a  certain  amount;  and  the  money  that  the  banker 
handles — money  that  can't  relieve  a  real  want  of  nature 
— ain't  doin'  his  soul  any  particular  good.  The  doctrine 
of  contentment  is  an  old  one,  but  a  better  one  was  never 
preached.  And  the  farmer  ought  to  be  the  very  model  of 
contentment.  He  would  be  if  he  stopped  to  think. 
Men  that  set  the  world  afire  die  in  the  flames.  Greatness 
at  least  acknowledges  its  weakness.  In  this  there  is  a 
valuable  lesson.  It  should  teach  us  to  be  contented. 
We  all  ought  to  ask  ourselves  this  vital  question:  What 
is  success?  It  ain't  noise,  for  silence  must  follow,  and 
silence  can  last  longer  than  sound.  There  never  was  a 
storm  as  long  as  the  calm.  They  that  find  happiness  in 
bluster  will  find  misery  in  quietude." 


ON  THE  FARMER  121 

"Your  lecture  is  very  good,"  said  the  Colonel,  "but 
really  I  should  like  to  get  down  to  that  steer." 

"We'll  get  down  to  him  pretty  soon.  But  you  spoke 
about  the  farmer,  and  let  us  take  one  thing  at  a  time. 
The  steer  will  wait.  That  is  a  part  of  his  duty  toward 
man.  Don't  let  him  outdo  man  in  politeness.  The 
greatest  thing  about  man  is  to  teach  some  other  man 
somethin'.  Each  man  is  an  illustrator  of  life.  And  the 
farmer,  instead  of  bein'  the  joke  of  the  ignorant  folks 
that  live  in  towns,  ought  to  be  envied  by  the  philosopher. 
He  could  give  at  least  half  of  his  time  in  winter  to  fruitful 
meditation,  and  in  doing  this  he  would  not  only  store  up 
contentment  and  pleasure  for  himself  in  the  future,  but 
out  of  it  might  come  great  benefit  to  mankind  at  large. 
1  nought  is  the  food  of  the  soul.  I  remember  when  old 
Sam  Porsey  was  dyin'.  I  don't  suppose  there  was  a 
poorer  man  in  the  neighbourhood.  But  some  of  the 
shallow  minded  used  to  reproach  him  for  his  happiness. 
They  said  he  was  thoughtless.  But  the  fact  is  that 
he  had  more  of  the  right  sort  of  thought  than  any  man 
for  miles  around.  He  worked  hard,  made  a  livin'  and 
didn't  grumble.  That  was  thought  to  be  some  sort  of 
mental  disease — the  fact  that  he  didn't  complain;  and  a 
joker  told  him  he'd  better  take  somethin'  for  it.  He  did. 
He  took  things  as  he  found  them  and  tried  to  make  them 
better  and  more  cheerful.  Well,  when  he  was  lyin'  on  his 
deathbed  one  of  the  neighbours  asked  him  if  there  was 
anything  he  particularly  regretted.  'Yes,'  he  said,  'in 
lookin'  back  I  remember  an  old  nigger  who  had  the 


122  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

rheumatiz  mighty  bad.  I  went  to  his  cabin  one  night 
just  before  he  died,  and  in  lookin'  back  I  recollect  I  forgot 
to  tell  him  he  might  be  better  next  day.'  Everybody 
thought  that  old  Sam's  mind  was  wanderin'.  And  it 
was — wanderin'  back  to  the  time  when  he  had  neglected 
to  do  a  poor  old  fellow  a  moment  of  good.  The  other  day 
I  passed  through  an  old  orchard  where  Sam  was  buried. 
The  apple  tree  above  him  is  always  the  first  one  to  bloom, 
and  in  it  the  sweetest  singin'  birds  make  their  nests. 
Nobody  has  tried  to  keep  the  grass  green,  but  it  is  green 
of  itself;  and  the  wild  flowers  that  grow  there  are  like 
psalms  burstin'  up  out  of  the  ground.  There's  a  sermon, 
Colonel.  He  laughed  nearly  all  of  his  life,  and  now  the 
weeds  about  his  grave  come  out  in  summer  time  and 
with  their  blossom  seem  to  be  echoin'  his  merriment. 
The  man  that  makes  the  weed  blossom  is  greater  than  the 
man  that  causes  the  rose  to  die.  Wait  a  minute.  The 
Bible  was  written  mostly  for  the  farmer.  It  is  his  book. 
We  read  it  and  established  liberty  in  England.  The 
king  said,  'Oh,  no;  it  is  my  book.  I  am  the  anointed. 
Pay  me.'  But  the  book  had  taught  the  farmer  to  think, 
and  action  was  but  a  natural  outcome." 

"Yes,  that  is  all  very  true,"  said  the  Colonel  arising. 
''But  now  let  us  talk  about  that  steer.  I  am  in  a  hurry. 
What  is  he  worth?" 

"What  do  you  suppose  he's  worth?"  Limuel  replied. 
"He  looks  all  right,  doesn't  he?" 

"Yes,  but  steers  are  cheap,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"That  may  be;  I'm  not  keepin'  up  with  them  very  close/* 


ON  THE  FARMER  123 

"  But  what  will  you  take  for  him  ? " 

"Take  for  him?  You  said  you  wanted  to  talk  about 
him  and  I've  humoured  you.  The  fact  is,  he  jumped  in 
there  just  now  to  rest  himself,  and  he  doesn't  belong  to 
me.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Colonel;  don't  be  snatched." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  HORSE  TRADER 

IT  was  court  day  in  the  county  seat.  Long-legged 
colts  ran  after  their  mothers.  On  the  public  square  dogs, 
meeting  one  another  for  the  first  time  and  exercising  the 
right  of  that  ancient  enmity  which  science  has  not  been 
able  to  explain,  fought  desperately.  A  great  day  surely, 
dating  back  to  the  dawn  of  Anglo-Saxon  liberty.  Amid 
the  gathering  throng,  heavy  of  foot  and  weighty  in  bearing, 
walked  the  sheriff,  spurred  like  a  fighting  cock — and 
splashed  as  if  he  had  ridden  far  to  arrest  offenders. 
Merchants  hung  out  their  most  tempting  wares.  Red 
calico  blazed  in  the  sun.  The  restaurant  announced  cat 
fish,  fresh  from  the  creek.  Old-time  citizens  whose 
minds  ran  back  to  the  day  when  lawyers,  with  more  of 
oratory  than  of  statute,  travelled  from  one  court  to 
another,  stood  about  the  livery  stable.  And  who  is  this 
shrewd  fellow  with  hawk  eye?  It  is  the  horse  trader. 
He  knows  the  age  of  every  colt  that  has  come  into  town 
this  day.  He  knows  that  the  old  clay-bank  mare,  tied 
over  yonder  against  the  fence,  will  balk.  He  knows  that 
a  shrewd  farmer  has  filed  her  teeth  to  disguise  her  ad 
vancing  years.  He  has  the  record  of  yonder  mule.  He 

124 


THE  HORSE  TRADER  125 

knows  that  last  spring,  a  year  ago,  he  left  a  print  of  iron 
between  a  darkey's  eyes.  How  ready  he  is  to  pass  opinion, 
on  all  phases  of  life.  Book  learning  is  the  word  bluster  of 
the  ignorant.  To  sit  down  to  read  is  to  sit  down  without 
thought  of  your  own.  The  reader  is  the  borrower.  In 
short,  he  knows  tkat  all  intelligence  is  to  be  summed  up  in 
one's  knowledge  of  a  horse.  Old  Limuel  Jucklin  came 
into  the  stable,  the  great  hallway  of  intelligence,  and  took 
a  chair  which  the  proprietor  commanded  a  boy  to  fetch 
for  him.  When  the  old  man  had  taken  his  hat  and  placed 
it  on  the  ground  beside  his  chair,  the  horse  trader  came 
forward  and  spoke  to  him. 

"Jucklin,  ain't  it  about  time  you  were  gettin'  rid  of  that 
old  sorrel?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know;  he  hasn't  done  me  any  particular 
harm." 

"But  has  he  done  you  any  particular  good?" 

The  old-timers  gathered  about  the  two  men.  The 
clearing  house  of  wisdom  was  about  to  open  its  session. 

"His  right  eye  is  failing"  said  the  trader. 

"Well,  but  his  left  eye  is  all  right,"  replied  Limuel. 
"And  with  one  eye  he  can  see  only  half  of  a  load,  be 
deceived  as  to  its  weight,  and  in  consequence  will  pull 
better." 

"But  he  is  threatened  with  a  spavin,"  retorted  the 
trader. 

"Maybe  so.  But  when  a  spavined  horse  gets  warmed 
up  he  feels  so  good  over  the  relief  that  he  travels  faster. 
It's  a  renewal  of  his  youth." 


126  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"But  he's  losin'  flesh,"  persisted  the  trader. 

"That's  a  fact.  He  was  gettin'  too  fat.  Anything  else 
the  trouble  with  him?  Don't  you  think  he's  afflicted 
with  bad  dreams?  Examine  his  mane  and  see  if  the 
witches  haven't  been  ridin'  him.  But  first  tell  me 
what  you  want  me  to  do  with  him.  I  guess  you  want  me 
to  swap  for  that  bay  you've  got." 

"Well,  I  didn't  know  but  we  might  strike  up  a  trade.'* 

"But  why  do  you  want  a  horse  that's  so  out  of  fix  as 
mine  is?  Jim,"  he  added,  "I  was  thinkin'  of  you  as  I 
rode  in  town.  I  was  wonderin'  if  you'd  eventually 
trade  your  way  into  the  middle  of  eternity  and  then  be 
driven  out  on  the  other  side.  Your  life  has  been  a  con 
tinuous  whettin'  of  yourself,  to  make  yourself  sharper. 
You  are  a  fox  among  men." 

"But  nobody  can  say  I'm  a  liar,  Uncle  Lim." 

"Oh,  no.  But  the  worst  lie  is  not  the  direct  lie,  but 
the  one  that  leads  man  on  to  one  of  his  own  findin', 
for  then  he  is  doubly  deceived.  You  let  a  man  set  a  trap 
for  himself.  With  apparent  openness  you  warn  him  against 
yourself,  but  you  don't  warn  him  against  himself.  The 
worst  deceiver  in  this  world  is  the  one  that  puts  a  man  in 
a  position  to  deceive  himself.  A  half  truth  is  worth  more 
than  a  whole  lie.  It  ketches  more  people." 

"You  are  too  hard  on  me,  Uncle  Lim.  Horse  trading 
is  my  business,  and  under  the  law  it  is  an  honest  callin'." 

"  Honest  enough  from  the  point  of  view  that  self  interest 
takes,"  Limuel  replied.  "But  if  you  were  perfectly 
honest  and  gave  the  other  feller  as  much  of  the  bargain 


THE  HORSE  TRADER  127 

as  you  get,  you'd  never  have  more  than  you  started  in 
with.  You  must  have  a  shade  the  best  of  it." 

"But  isn't  that  true  of  all  business ?" 

"Pretty  much,"  the  old  man  admitted.  "But  the  man 
that  lives  by  his  wits  lives  on  the  lack  of  wit  in  other  men. 
He  is  a  hawk  sailin'  around  the  barnyard  of  life.  In 
swappin'  hosses  you  first  make  it  a  point  to  find  objections 
in  the  other  hoss.  Your  aim  is  to  make  the  owner  dis 
satisfied  with  him.  Gradually  you  show  the  strong 
points  of  your  own  hoss.  You  are  so  persuasive  that  the 
victim  hears  and  thinks  he  sees.  Virtues  drummed  into 
the  ears  become  virtues  in  the  imagined  sight.  Then 
you've  got  him.  The  limp  in  your  own  hoss  is  turned 
into  a  sort  of  grace.  It  is  the  main  feature  in  your  hoss. 
A  cast  in  the  eye  is  not  the  forerunner  of  comin'  blindness, 
but  the  promise  of  better  sight.  You  couldn't  keep  from 
deceivin'  your  best  friend.  It  isn't  gain  you  are  after  so 
much  as  it  is  the  thrill  of  beatin'  someone.  With  you  it 
is  an  appetite — just  the  same  as  a  man's  thirst  for  drink." 

"Hold  on,  you  would  make  me  out  a  thief." 

"No,  but  a  man  that  wants  to  intoxicate  himself. 
It's  politics  applied  to  hosses.  To  mislead  a  man  is  to 
acquire  a  sort  of  majority.  If  you  owned  all  the  hosses 
in  this  community  you  wouldn't  be  satisfied.  Then  you'd 
start  out  with  cows.  And  ownin'  all  the  cows,  you'd  take 
the  dogs.  There'd  be  no  such  thing  as  satisfyin'  you. 
You  know  the  other  feller  is  always  tryin'  to  get  the 
best  of  you,  and  this  soothes  your  conscience.  It  is 
much  easier  to  soothe  a  conscience  than  a  stone  bruise." 


128  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"But  you  know  I  wouldn't  cheat  you." 

"Oh,  you  wouldn't  cheat  anyone,"  Limuel  replied. 
"But  the  very  fact  that  you  want  to  swap  your  hoss  for 
mine  proves  that  you  want  to  do  something  and  it's 
natural  to  suppose  that  you  don't  want  the  worst  of  it. 
Now,  we'll  take  the  circuit  jedge,  for  instance.  He  is 
your  uncle,  I  believe.  You  think  well  of  him.  You 
know  that  a  hoss  is  a  part  of  his  life,  for  he  has  to  ride 
horse  back  from  one  courthouse  to  another.  But  you 
swapped  bosses  with  him  until  he  was  seen  walkin', 
carryin'  his  saddle.  And  now  you  want  to  see  me  walk." 

"That's  where  you  do  me  wrong,"  declared  the  horse 
trader.  "  I  swapped  several  times  with  my  uncle  and " 

"Yes,  and  shortly  afterward  he  walked  into  town, 
didn't  he?" 

"Well,  I  don't  insure  a  horse's  health.  I'm  not  a  horse 
prophet.  I  can't  tell  how  long  a  horse  may  live.  I 
swapped  with  Uncle  Dan  three  times  and— 

"And  he  walked,  just  as  I  say,"  Limuel  broke  in. 
"And  is  it  that  you  want  to  see  whether  or  not  I  can  beat 
him  walkin'  ?  We  might  settle  it  by  walkin'  round  and 
round  the  courthouse  square." 

"That's  all  right,  Uncle  Lim,  but  I  traded  with  the 
Judge  three  days  ago  and  he  rode  into  town  this  mornin*. 
He  says  he  never  had  a  better  saddle  horse  in  his  life. 
And  the  horse  I  got  from  him  I'm  willin'  to  let  you  have. 
I  don't  want  to  see  you  walk — want  to  see  you  well 
mounted.  Now  you  go  and  ask  the  Judge  what  sort  of  a 
horse  I  let  him  have  the  other  day.'* 


THE  HORSE  TRADER  129 

Just  at  this  moment  the  Judge  came  walkin*  into  the 
stable.  "Jim/*  said  he,  speaking  to  the  trader,  "I  wish 
there  were  some  law  under  which  I  could  shut  you  up  in 
the  penitentiary.  I  went  around  to  the  barn  just  now 
to  look  at  my  horse,  and — and  the  thing  is  dead." 

Old  Lim  looked  at  the  trader.  "Don't  believe  I  want 
to  swap  with  you,  Jimmie.  It's  ten  miles  from  here  to 
where  I  live  and  I  don't  care  to  walk." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  REBEL  AND  THE  YANKEE 

ABOUT  the  stove  in  the  cross-roads  store  they  sat,  the 
wise  men  of  the  neighbourhood.  What  they  knew  they 
rejoiced  in,  and  what  they  did  not  know  was  not  worth 
knowing.  They  possessed  the  wisdom  of  satisfaction 
with  self.  Among  them  was  old  Henry  Balch,  the 
neighbourhood's  shrewdest  guesser  at  the  weather. 
When  he  guessed  rightly  he  reminded  them  of  his  fore 
cast.  When  he  missed  it  he  said  nothing.  In  many 
of  life's  departments  great  reputations  have  been  made  in 
this  way. 

The  conversation  had  turned  into  its  accustomed  by 
paths,  and  it  appeared  that  there  was  nothing  more  to 
be  said  on  any  conceivable  subject  when  old  Lim  Jucklin 
remarked,  addressing  Henry  Balch:  "You  used  to  be 
a  Yankee,  didn't  you,  Henry?" 

"Who,  me?  Yes,  think  I  was,  about  the  time  you 
were  a  Rebel.  Seems  funny  now,  don't  it  ?" 

"Yes,  like  a  dream  that  gradually  fades  away.  And 
did  you  ever  think  of  the  fact  that  notwithstandin'  all  the 
bloodshed  and  the  bitterness  that  necessarily  followed, 
our  family  trouble  taught  the  world  the  greatest  lesson  of 
modern  times?  Ever  think  of  that?" 

130 


THE  REBEL  AND  THE  YANKEE   131 

"Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  have,"  old  Henry  replied, 
reaching  over  and  pulling  out  the  damper  of  the  stove. 
"But  what's  your  p'int  of  view?" 

"It's  just  this:  Almost  from  the  very  beginnin'  of 
the  world  the  wisest  of  men  have  said  that  a  democracy 
couldn't  exist  for  any  great  length  of  time.  Nearly  every 
republic  had  begun  with  blood  and  all  of  them  had  ended 
with  failure.  And  when  the  American  Government  was 
established  they  said  that  it  was  not  established.  They 
knew  that  it  was  an  experiment  and  they  pointed  to 
history  to  prove  it,  and  history  nodded  and  said, '  Ah,  hah, 
that's  a  fact.'  When  our  war  came  they  cried  out, 
'Here  you  are.'  And  it  seemed  that  we  were  to  fly  off 
into  jagged  fragments,  thus  provin'  for  the  hundredth 
time  that  republics  were  merely  the  dreams  of  idle  men. 
It  seemed  to  be  the  world's  final  test.  But  we  came 
through  it  all,  more  cemented  than  ever  before,  and  the 
nations  of  the  earth  looked  at  us  and  said:  'Well,  we'll 
be  blowed.'  So,  our  war,  the  test  and  its  outcome,  the 
proof,  finally  proved  to  man  that  after  all  it  is  man  that 
governs  the  world.  Ignorance  in  the  furtherest  parts  of 
the  universe  has  been  inspired  with  hope.  The  result  of 
the  success  of  democracy  in  America  has  given  to  man 
a  broader  idea  of  God.  It  has  shown  that  a  few  men  only 
wan't  anointed  by  the  Almighty.  It  has  proved  that  the 
throne  is  a  man-made  seat,  and  not  any  more  divine  than 
the  workbench.  The  Lord  may  have  been  represented 
a  settin'  on  his  throne,  but  the  one  that  redeemed  the 
world  stood  at  the  workbench.  The  time  is  comin'  when 


132  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

the  whole  earth  will  be  Americanised.  Every  great  book 
that  a  man  reads  helps  along  this  idea.  Yes,  sir,  there's 
comin'  a  time  when  a  man  will  be  ashamed  to  live  in  a 
country  where  he's  called  a  subject  instead  of  a  citizen. 
I  wish  I  had  a  chance  to  talk  to  every  schoolboy  in  the 
world.  I'd  impress  these  facts  on  his  mind." 

"Yes,"  replied  old  Henry,  "but  it  seems  to  me  that 
those  fellers  in  the  East  are  a  tryin'  to  make  a  monarchy  of 
this  country  as  fast  as  they  can." 

"Looks  that  way,"  Jucklin  admitted,  "but  you  might 
just  as  well  say  that  a  tricklin'  spring  branch  is  about  to 
make  the  ocean  fresh.  All  the  power  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  couldn't  make  a  monarchy  of  this  country.  But 
speakin'  about  bein'  a  Yankee,  do  you  remember  old 
Sam  Nesbitt?  Of  course  you  do.  Well,  just  about  the 
time  the  war  got  well  under  way,  old  Sam  took  it  into  his 
head  that  he  ought  to  come  over  to  my  house  and  kill  me 
to  help  things  along.  He  had  raised  a  squad  of  fellers 
and  they  wanted  to  make  a  name  for  themselves.  So, 
one  night  when  the  moon  was  a  shinin'  here  they  came. 
I'd  been  mustered  into  the  service  and  was  stayin'  home  a 
few  days  to  straighten  things  out  a  little.  And  I  wa'n't 
sleepin'  down  in  the  parlour.  I  was  in  the  garret,  I  tell 
you ;  and  I  looked  out  and  saw  the  gang  a  comin'.  There 
wa'n't  any  chance  to  get  away,  and  I  lay  low  and  waited. 
Putty  soon  they  came  a  thunderin'  at  the  door.  My 
wife  let  'em  in.  They  asked  where  I  was  and  she  said 
she  didn't  know.  She  didn't,  exactly — didn't  know 
which  corner  of  the  garret  I  was  hidin'  in.  Old  Sam 


THE  REBEL  AND  THE  YANKEE        133 

'lowed  that  he  was  glad  I  wa'n't  in  the  house,  for  ue  was 
goin'  to  set  fire  to  it  and  that  it  would  be  a  shame  for  a 
man  to  be  burnt  up  in  his  own  house.  When  I  hearn 
this  I  sorter  caught  my  breath,  and  so  cold  a  chill  ran  up 
my  back  that  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  sneezin'. 
My  wife  told  him  that  the  house  was  old  and  would  burn 
easily.  It  had  been  our  intention  to  build  a  new  one  and 
that  if  he  set  it  afire  it  would  save  the  trouble  of  tearin' 
it  down.  There  was  a  pot  of  coffee  on  the  fire.  Now 
coffee  was  a  scarce  article  and  when  the  perfume  of  it 
began  to  arise  old  Sam  he  began  to  sniff.  He  asked  her 
if  it  was  Lincoln  coffee,  all  other  sort  bein'  made  of  rye 
or  potatoes  and  such  like.  She  told  him  it  was  and  he 
told  her  to  pour  it  out.  So  she  got  some  cups  and  poured 
out  enough  for  all  five  of  them  and  they  drank  it  and 
smacked  their  mouths.  When  they  had  put  down  their 
cups  she  went  to  the  door,  stepped  out  and  with  the  door 
about  a  third  of  the  way  open  she  said :  '  If  you  are  goin' 
to  burn  this  house  down  you'd  better  be  about  it.  The 
fact  is  I  was  expectin'  you  and  that  coffee  was  fixed. 
Didn't  you  notice  how  bitter  it  was?  It  was  dosed  with 
strychnine.  And  as  Doctor  Seymour  lives  at  least  ten 
miles  from  here,  you  will  all  be  dead  before  you  can  get  to 
his  house.  Good-night  and  good-by.'  With  that  she 
shut  the  door  and  ran  away.  Well,  I  never  hearn  such 
scufflin'  in  my  life.  Some  of  them  didn't  wait  to  get  out 
at  the  door.  They  broke  through  the  windows,  and  one 
of  them  carried  a  window  sash  for  upward  of  a  mile. 
I  heard  'em  goin'  over  the  hill  and  I  laughed  and  took  this 


134  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

opportunity  to  sneeze.  Well,  they  galloped  all  the  way 
to  the  doctor's  house,  threw  themselves  off  of  their  hosses 
and  knocked  down  the  door  in  their  haste  to  get  in;  and 
the  doctor  he  treated  them,  pumped  them  out  and  charged 
them  a  hoss  for  his  services.  Years  afterward  I  met  old 
Sam  in  town  and  I  asked  him  if  he  liked  coffee  and  he 
looked  at  me  and  said:  'Lim,  you  blamed  fool,  I'll  give 
you  the  finest  game  rooster  in  the  county  if  you  won't 
say  anything  about  that  affair/  I  told  him  to  send  over 
the  bird,  and  he  did,  and  I  never  mentioned  it  again  as 
long  as  he  lived ;  but  about  a  year  afterward  I  heard  that  he 
had  a  chicken  from  the  Spanish  cockpits  of  New  Orleans 
and  I  wanted  it.  But  knowin'  how  much  he  must  be 
attached  to  it,  I  couldn't  think  of  insultin'  him  by  offerin' 
him  money.  But  I  went  over  to  see  him  one  day.  He 
was  out  at  the  barn  talkin'  to  his  chicken.  And  it  was  a 
beauty.  I  says  to  him,  says  I,  'Sam,  that's  the  finest 
bird  I  ever  saw.'  'Yes/  he  says,  with  an  air  of  pride, 
'he's  the  finest.'  'I  reckon  that's  so,'  says  I.  'And  he 
reminds  me  of  one  I  used  to  own.  But  misfortune  over 
took  him.  He  came  into  the  kitchen  one  day  and  jumped 
on  the  table  and  drank  some  coffee  and  it  killed  him.' 
'You  don't  say  so?'  says  old  Sam,  with  a  dry  grin  on 
his  face.  I  told  him  I  did  say  so  and  then  remarked 
that  I  was  in  somethin'  of  a  hurry  and  must  be  goin*. 
'Don't  be  pulled,'  says  he.  'Oh,  by  the  way,  don't  you 
want  this  chicken?'  'Well,  as  the  other  one  you  gave 
me  has  about  run  out,  I  believe  I  do.'  So  I  took  the 
chicken  and  went  home.  We  lost  a  good  man  when  old 


THE  REBEL  AND  THE  YANKEE        135 

Sam  died.  His  jedgment  of  a  rooster  was  above  reproach, 
and  was  of  great  benefit  to  me.  By  the  way,  Henry, 
didn't  you  shoot  at  me  one  night  along  in  sixty-four, 
down  here  at  the  turn  of  the  county  road  ?" 

"Well,  now,  really,  Lim,  I  don't  recollect.  But  I  was 
putty  sociable  in  them  days  and  it  might  have  been  me." 

"Ah,  hah.  I've  intended  a  number  of  times  to  ask  you 
about  it.  It  was  a  sort  of  long  fire,  as  if  it  hated  to  give 
up — and  as  you  always  hated  to  give  up  anything,  Henry, 
I  'lowed  it  must  be  you." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

OLD  LIM'S  RIDE 

"WHO  is  that  a  comin'  down  the  road?"  old  man 
Brizintine  inquired  of  his  friends  who  sat  beneath  the 
tree  that  shaded  the  blacksmith  shop. 

"Whoever  he  is  he  looks  and  walks  the  worse  for  wear," 
someone  replied.  "He's  got  no  hat.  Why,  it's  Lim 
Jucklin." 

Old  Limuel  came  along  with  a  limp.  His  coat  was  torn 
and  the  sole  of  one  of  his  shoes  had  been  wrenched  off. 

"Why,  hello,"  said  Brizintine.  "You  come  like  a  late 
spring." 

"Yes,"  Jucklin  replied,  "and  I  feel  like  the  lag  end  of 
a  hard  winter.  I've  just  got  through  with  a  pleasure 
trip,"  he  added  as  he  sat  down.  The  men  looked  at  one 
another  and  smiled,  waiting  for  the  old  fellow  to  explain. 

"Pleasure  trip?"  said  Brizintine. 

"Ah,  hah.  I've  just  had  my  first  ride  in  an  automo 
bile." 

"Is  that  so?    Tell  us  about  it." 

"Don't  need  to,"  said  Lim.     "Just  look  at  me." 

They  looked  at  him.  "Yes,"  he  added,  "I  was  a 
walkin'  along  the  road  and  here  came  a  goggle-eyed 
feller  in  one  of  these  grunt  wagons.  He  stopped  to  fix 

136 


OLD  LIM'S  RIDE  137 

one  of  its  lungs  and  I  helped  him  to  hold  the  thing  to  keep 
it  from  shakin'  itself  to  pieces  while  it  was  standing  and 
when  he  got  the  lung  fixed  he  asked  me  if  I  didn't  want  to 
ride.  Well,  I  had  ridden  in  everything  else — buckboards 
and  wheelbarrows — and  the  idea  occurred  to  me  that  it 
might  be  well  to  ride  in  the  thing  just  for  experience.  A 
man  that  likes  to  talk  must  keep  on  addin'  to  his  stock 
of  experience  or  he  gives  out.  People  begin  to  say, 
'Well,  I  must  go/  as  soon  as  he  comes  up  to  where  they 
are,  and  this  makes  him  feel  that  he  is  a  gettin'  old.  So 
I  said,  'Yes,  I  might  ride  a  few  hundred  miles  with  you/ 
He  smiled  and  told  me  to  get  in.  The  thing  cringed  and 
sorter  dodged  as  I  got  in,  and  I  asked  him  if  it  skeered 
much,  and  he  laughed  and  said  it  was  as  gentle  as  a  lamb. 
I  got  seated  and  theji  the  feller  turned  on  his  invisible 
juices  and  the  machine  jumped  across  the  road  and  landed 
against  the  fence.  I  says,  'She  must  have  been  stabled 
for  a  good  while  and  is  sorter  pranky.' 

''" She's  sulkin'  a  bit/  he  replies,  and  then  touches 
her  somewhere  in  the  off  ribs.  She  kicked  up  behind  and 
I  remarked  that  she  didn't  seem  to  be  willin'  to  tote  double. 
By  this  time  she  was  a  prancin'  about,  a  gettin'  ready  to 
do  somethin'  else.  'What's  her  name,  or  have  you  had 
time  to  name  her?'  It  struck  me  that  she  wouldn't  hold 
still  long  enough  to  be  named.  She  quit  prancin'  for  a 
few  moments  and  he  'lowed  that  her  name  was  Blue 
Streak. 

"All  right/  says  I,  'tickle  her  again.'  By  this  time 
I  wanted  to  ride.  So  he  gave  her  a  twist  and  she  said, 


138  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

'pah,  pah/  and  was  on  the  top  of  the  hill  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away,  a  standin'  across  the  road,  a  pawin'  up 
the  dirt.  He  got  out  and  I  asked  him  if  her  liver  was 
wrong.  He  got  down  under  her  and  I  heard  him  a 
swearin'  up  into  her  secret  works.  Every  time  he  touched 
her  in  a  tender  place  she'd  hiccough.  'Let  her  take  ten 
swallows  of  water  without  breathing  says  I,  and  he 
ripped  out  some  cuss  words  I  never  heard  before,  and 
shoved  them  up  into  her  vitals.  When  he  came  out 
from  under  her  you  could  have  sold  him  for  soap  grease. 
'  Just  wipe  your  hands  on  her  jaws  and  come  on.  I  want 
to  ride/  says  I. 

"By  this  time  he  was  mad  and  didn't  say  anything. 
But  he  stepped  off  and  gave  that  machine  a  look  that 
would  have  barked  a  beech  tree.  He  got  in  and  she 
began  to  back  down  the  hill.  Then  she  jumped  up  into 
the  air  and  came  down  with  a  grunt.  Then  she  hoisted 
up  one  hind  wheel  and  shook  the  dirt  off  it.  Then  she 
ducked  down  in  front  and  sneezed. 

"  I  told  him  he  must  have  had  her  out  where  distemper 
was  epidemic  among  hosses.  He  gave  her  another 
twist  and  she  shuffled  like  a  hen  in  the  dust.  I  told  him 
I  was  enjoyin'  my  ride.  He  twisted  her  again  and  she 
says  z-z-z-z-e-e — and  everything  that  ever  was  in  the  world 
was  left  behind.  My  hat  was  gone,  but  I  held  my  hair 
on.  I  says,  'Let  me  know  just  before  we  get  to  the  Pacific 
Coast.  I  don't  want  to  jump  off.'  Suddenly  she  whined 
like  a  hungry  dog  and  stopped ;  and  she  stopped  so  sudden 
that  him  and  me  went  on  out  in  front.  I  had  just  breath 


OLD  LIM'S  RIDE  139 

enough  to  tell  him  that  I  wan't  in  that  big  a  hurry.  But 
he  didn't  appear  to  mind  it.  That  was  putty  much  the 
way  he  always  got  out,  I  reckon.  And  he  riz  up  with  a 
monkey-wrench  in  his  hand.  That  wrench  was  the 
soothin'  syrup  of  his  family.  Well,  he  got  down  under  her 
again  and  tightened  her  tonsils.  I  asked  him  if  he  needed 
any  help,  and  he  cussed  me.  Then  I  understood  why  he 
wanted  me  to  ride  with  him.  He  needed  somebody  to 
cuss. 

"When  he  came  out  this  time  he  looked  like  a  screech 
owl  with  his  feathers  singed  off  with  hot  lard.  He  didn't 
say  a  word.  He  got  in  and  touched  a  nerve  and  the 
thing  struck  the  fence.  He  touched  another  nerve  and  it 
jumped  about  eighty  feet  down  the  road,  halted  long 
enough  to  do  a  sort  of  shuffle,  and  then  disappeared  over 
the  landscape.  We  disappeared  with  it.  I  looked 
around  to  find  my  friend,  but  I  couldn't  see  him.  All  I 
saw  was  a  greasy  streak.  She  slowed  up,  but  was  still 
goin'  about  eighty  miles  an  hour  when  I  saw  a  hog  in  the 
road,  over  in  the  next  county.  I  said  somethin'  about  the 
hog,  but  the  wind  blowed  my  words  away  as  fast  as  I 
uttered  them;  and  the  next  moment  there  came  a  short 
squeal  and — well,  the  hog  didn't  belong  to  me. 

"'Keep  among  the  hogs,  but  look  out  for  that  bull  away 
down  yonder,'  says  I.  And  I'll  give  the  greasy  man 
credit  for  believin'  that  he  tried  to  stop  the  machine.  He 
twisted  her  under  the  jaw  till  I  could  see  her  back  teeth, 
but  she  kept  on  a  goin'  just  the  same.  I  take  it  that  the 
bull  had  led  a  sort  of  humoured  life  and  thought  he  owned 


140  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

the  road.  He  must  have  taken  the  premium  at  the 
county  fair.  I  heard  him  a  hummin'  of  his  tune  as  he 
came  along.  He  put  me  in  mind  of  a  feller  I  heard  a 
singin*  in  one  of  these  operys  a  long  time  ago.  You 
could  understand  what  one  said  just  about  as  well  as  the 
other. 

"I  told  my  friend  that  if  he  would  slack  up  to  about 
seventy-five  miles  an  hour  I'd  get  out,  and  he  twisted  the 
upper  lip  of  the  thing,  but  she  wouldn't  give  in.  She 
went  cavortin'  down  the  hill  with  her  hind  wheels  off  the 
ground  about  half  the  time.  The  bull — well,  I  was  in 
hopes  that  he  would  see  us  and  recognise  the  fact  that  we 
were  in  a  hurry.  But  he  didn't — he  just  came  along  with 
his  opery.  I  hate  to  see  trouble  a  comin'  and  not  know 
how  to  avoid  it.  I  don't  like  to  wonder  as  to  how  I  am 
goin'  to  feel  when  the  thing  is  over  with.  I  thought  of  a 
good  many  things — and  then — I  got  up  from  the  side  of 
the  road,  a  wonderin'  if  I  was  goin'  to  be  struck  again. 
I  looked  around.  I  knew  that  my  friend  must  be  dead. 
But  bless  your  life,  he  was  under  that  machine  with  his 
monkey-wrench.  The  bull?  Well,  he  was  goin'  on  up 
the  road,  on  three  legs  and  with  only  one  horn.  My 
friend  came  out  from  under  the  machine  and  says  to  me, 
'Well,  hop  in.' 

"  'Thank  you,  I  ain't  a  frog  and  know  when  I've  hopped 
enough,'  says  I. 

"'What!  don't  you  want  to  ride?' 

"'Well,  not  in  a  combination  of  a  snort  wagon  and  a 
balloon.' 


OLD  LIM'S  RIDE  141 

"'Why,  this  is  nothing'  says  he.  'This  is  one  of  my 
good  days.' 

"I  told  him  it  was  good-day  so  far  as  I  was  concerned. 
He  begged  me  to  get  in,  but  I  told  him  no;  and  I  climbed 
up  a  leanin'  tree  till  he  got  started.  I  don't  know  whether 
the  thing  jumped  the  fence  or  knocked  it  down,  but  any 
how  it  started  across  the  field.  It  struck  a  stump  and  he 
went  up  into  the  air,  but  he  came  down  with  the  monkey- 
wrench  in  his  hand.  No,  that  sort  of  travellin'  don't 
suit  me.  It's  a  nightmare  in  the  daytime.  I  may  be  old 
fashioned,  but  I  am  not  a  bull  fighter.  I  don't  want  to 
live  in  grease  with  a  monkey- wrench," 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  CONGRESSMAN 

THE  Congressman  of  the  district  had  returned  from 
Washington.  Those  who  had  openly  indorsed  his 
candidacy  and  had  secretly  voted  against  him  felt  free 
to  call  upon  him  and  to  question  him  concerning  the  affair 
of  State.  The  Congressman,  the  Honourable  Mr.  Jim 
Horn  Adams,  welcomed  his  friends.  It  was  the  part  of 
his  wife  to  inquire  of  each  man,  "Oh,  why  didn't  you  bring 
your  wife  ?"  And  she  did  it  well — just  as  if  she  meant  it. 

"I  reckon  they  keep  you  putty  busy,"  said  old  man 
Brizintine.  He  had  years  before  visited  the  Legislature, 
had  been  invited  to  a  seat  on  the  floor,  the  least  of  all  the 
honours  that  a  legislative  body  can  extend,  and  ever 
since  that  time  had  posed  as  an  exponent  of  parliamentary 
procedure. 

"Yes,  indeed,  very  busy,"  replied  the  Hon.  Jim  Horn 
Adams,  taking  some  papers  out  of  one  pocket  and  putting 
them  into  another.  "And  by  the  way,  did  you  get  the 
seeds  I  sent  you?" 

"Haven't  seen  a  seed,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Why,  that's  singular.  I  sent  you  a  package  of  im 
proved  tobacco  seed.  I  heard  the  President  speaking 

142 


THE  CONGRESSMAN  143 

about  the  fine  quality  of  tobacco  that  came  from  them 
and  I  got  some  at  once  and  sent  them  to  you.  By  the  way, 
Mr.  Jucklin,"  he  added,  looking  at  old  Lim,  who  sat  with 
his  chair  tipped  back  against  the  wall,  "I  thought  of  you 
the  other  day  when  I  called  on  one  of  the  representatives 
from  Louisiana.  I  think  he's  got  the  finest  game  rooster 
I  ever  saw,  and  I  remarked  to  my  wife  that  I  was  going 
to  get  him  if  possible  and  send  him  to  you." 

"Much  obleeged,"  said  old  Lim.  "Sure  it  was  the 
member  from  Louisiana,  are  you?" 

"Oh,  quite  sure  of  it." 

"Thick-set  fellow  with  a  short  beard?" 

"Yes,  that's  the  man." 

"His  name's  Horner,  ain't  it?" 

"I  think  you're  right,  sir — quite  sure  of  it.  Yes,  his 
name  is  Horner,"  Mr.  Adams  continued,  pleased  at  his 
own  invention  and  the  lucky  chance  of  old  Lim's  in 
dorsement  of  it.  "Horner — that's  the  man." 

"Did  you  make  him  an  offer?" 

"Well,  no.  The  fact  is,  I  was  very  busy  at  the  time, 
having  been  summoned  to  meet  the  Committee  on  Ways 
and  Means,  and  hadn't  the  opportunity,  but  I  shall  as 
soon  as  I  return." 

"You  are  certain  it  was  Horner?" 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  certain." 

"Well,  now  you  know  that's  strange.  There  was  a 
feller  along  here  about  a  month  ago  from  Louisiana  and 
we  got  to  talkin'  about  chickens  and  he  told  me  that  Con 
gressman  Horner — was  it  L.  B.  Horner?" 


144  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"L.  B. — that's  his  name.  Yes,  I  recollect  perfectly. 
And  I  said  to  my  wife,  'I'm  going  to  get  that  rooster  for 
my  old  friend.!" 

"Well,  now,"  drawled  old  Lim,  "I'm  glad  you  are  sure 
as  to  his  name.  This  feller  told  me  he  reckoned  that 
L.  B.  Horner  was  the  finest  judge  of  a  chicken  in  all  the 
whole  country,  and  so  I  thought  I'd  write  to  him.  And  I 
did.  I  got  me  some  of  the  finest  paper  they  had  at  the 
store  and  took  down  some  polkberry  ink  I'd  made  in  the 
fall  and  wrote  to  him.  And,  sir,  he  wrote  back  from 
Washington  that  he  never  owned  a  game  rooster  in  his 
life,  that  he  didn't  care  anything  about  'em,  and  that  if 
he  had  his  way  he'd  have  'em  all  killed  and  stewed  up  for 
a  darkey  picnic.  I'm  glad  you  told  me,  Mr.  Adams,  for 
I'll  write  to  him  again  on  the  commonest  sort  of  paper 
and  tell  him  what  a  liar  he  is." 

"Why,  I  wouldn't  do  that,"  protested  the  Congressman. 

"Yes,  I  will.  There's  nothing  that  does  me  more 
good  than  to  ketch  a  representative  of  the  people  in  a  lie. 
It  is  a  duty  we  all  owe  to  the  public  to  expose  such  frauds. 
Sure  now  his  name  is  Horner,  are  you?" 

"Horner.  Now  let  me  see.  Mary,"  he  added,  speak 
ing  to  his  wife,  who  sat  near  him,  exhibiting  her  uneasiness, 
"is  that  man's  name  Horner  or  Warner?" 

"I  think  it's  Warner,"  she  answered.  "I'm  quite 
certain  of  it." 

"Yes,  Warner,"  said  the  Congressman. 

"What,  B.  D.  Warner?"  Jucklin  exclaimed. 

"Well,"   hesitated  the  Congressman,   "I'm   not   sure 


THE   CONGRESSMAN  145 

as  to  his  initials.  But  I  don't  think,  however,  it's  B.  D. 
I  think  they  call  him  Samuel." 

"Samuel  R.,"  said  his  wife. 

"What!"  again  exclaimed  old  Lim,  "it  is  old  Samuel 
Radner  Warner.  I  know  him  like  a  book.  Sorter  lame 
in  the  right  leg?" 

"Not  that  I  noticed,"  replied  the  Congressman. 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  spoke  up  his  wife. 

"No?"  said  Lim.  "Well,  come  to  think  of  it,  neither 
was  the  one  I  know.  It's  his  brother  that's  lame.  I'll 
write  to  him  to-night  and  tell  him  that  I  must  have  that 
chicken." 

The  Congressman's  wife  was  equal  to  this  or  almost  any 
other  occasion.  "You  mean  the  chicken  with  the  black 
neck?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Limuel. 

"Well,  I'm  sorry,  but  he  sold  him  the  very  day  we  left 
Washington." 

"I'll  take  one  of  the  others,"  replied  Limuel. 

"But  that  was  the  only  one  he  had,"  said  the  Congress 
man's  wife. 

"Why,  that's  a  fact,"  exclaimed  the  Congressman. 
"But  Washington  is  a  great  place  for  roosters,  Mr.  Jucklin, 
and  before  the  next " 

"Election,"  suggested  Limuel. 

"Well,  I  was  going  to  say  that  before  the  end  of  the 
coming  session  I  would  find  you  one.  Don't  be  in  a 
hurry,  gentlemen." 

As  Limuel  and  Brizintine  were  going  down  the  road, 


146  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

the  rooster  lover  remarked:  "That  feller's  got  a  good 
wife.  She  finally  cornered  me,  and  when  a  woman  does 
that  I  am  inclined  to  think  she  is  all  right.  I'm  always 
glad,  Briz,  that  I'm  not  in  politics.  I  don't  mind  lyin' 
for  politeness  sake,  just  to  be  neighbourly,  but  I'd  hate 
to  find  it  necessary  in  my  business.  And  I'd  hate  still 
worse  to  have  to  prove  a  lie  by  my  wife.  The  Lord  calls 
on  a  woman  to  do  many  things,  and  what  He  don't  call 
for  necessity  nearly  always  does,  but  I  don't  think  that  a 
man's  wife  ought  to  be  taught  to  lie.  It  appears  to  be 
easy  enough  to  teach  her  though,  and  this  makes  it  all  the 
more  deplorable.  It  shows  how  fast  we  are  driftin'  in  the 
wrong  direction." 

"But  I  reckon  a  politician's  wife  has  to  lie,"  said  old 
Brizintine. 

"Yes,  mebby  so — and  when  a  woman  thinks  she's 
helpin'  to  re-elect  her  husband  by  her  wits  she'll  have 
more  wits  than  truth.  No,  don't  think  I  want  to  be  a 
Congressman.  From  a  distance  his  bed  may  look  like  a  bed 
of  roses,  but  nettles  have  blooms  on  them,  you  know. 
And  the  fear  that  he  ain't  goin'  to  get  back  is  a  nettle. 
Now  that  man  never  thought  about  me  while  he  was  off 
there.  But  he  thinks,  or  at  least  thought,  that  he  could 
ketch  me  with  a  cock-and-bull  story.  He  left  out  the 
bull.  Wonder  why  he  didn't  ring  him  in,  too  ?  Recollect 
Congressman  Conners  from  this  district  ?  Now,  there  was 
a  liar  for  you.  He  simply  acted  a  lie.  And  finally  when 
they  beat  him  I  asked  him  one  day,  says  I,  'Uncle  Ben, 
how  did  you  manage  to  get  back  so  often?  You  might 


THE  CONGRESSMAN  147 

as  well  tell  me,  as  you  are  done  with  politics/  He  laughed 
and  says,  'Well,  it  was  makin'  people  do  things  for  me 
instead  of  doin'  things  for  them.  Let  a  feller  do  things 
for  you  and  his  interest  in  you  is  always  fresh.  Do  things 
for  him  and  he  begins  after  a  while  to  dodge  you.  Your 
very  countenance  begins  to  accuse  him  of  ingratitude. 
Whenever  I'd  meet  a  feller  in  the  road  I'd  ask  him  for  a 
chew  of  tobacco.  I  might  have  a  pocketful,  but  I'd 
ask  him  for  some.  Instead  of  sendin'  seeds  from  Wash 
ington  I'd  write  to  a  feller  somethin'  like  this:  "Wish 
you'd  tell  your  wife  to  send  me  about  a  half  a  dozen  of 
her  biscuit."  To  someone  else  I'd  write:  " Don't 
think  I've  had  a  good  meal  since  I  was  at  your  house. 
Send  me  some  sausage  when  you  kill  hogs."  By  this 
means  I  kept  nearly  every  man  in  the  district  under 
obligations  to  me.' 

"Yes,"  old  Lim  added  as  he  came  to  the  place  where 
his  road  turned,  "that  Congressman's  wife  is  smart  and 
knows  how  to  dress,  but  if  she  were  my  wife  I'd  a  little 
rather  she  didn't  know  how  to  lie  so  quick." 


CHAPTER  XXV 
ON  POLITENESS 

"LiMUEL,"  said  Brizintine,  "what  do  you  regard  as 
about  the  most  necessary  quality  in  man?" 

The  two  old  men  were  sitting  in  the  sun,  the  May  side 
of  an  April  day,  discussing  that  ever-present  subject: 
The  World. 

"Well,"  Jucklin  replied,  "there  are  so  many  qualities 
that  thaw  and  run  into  each  other,  like  snowbanks  tricklin' 
down  into  the  creek,  that  it  wouldn't  be  easy  to  determine 
which.  But  the  one  that  occurs  to  me  at  this  moment  is 
one  that  has  been  preached  on  time  and  again — one  that 
mothers  try  to  enforce  on  the  minds  of  their  sons.  It  is 
politeness." 

"Useful  enough  in  its  way,"  said  Brizintine — "that  is, 
at  parties  and  funerals — but  do  you  think  it's  business? 
In  these  days,  you  know,  a  man  must  be  quick^  but 
politeness  is  slow." 

"You've  said  just  about  what  I  wanted  you  to  say," 
Lim  replied.  "Politeness  is  not  necessarily  slow.  It  is 
the  gesture  of  the  mind  and  may  be  just  as  quick  as  gruff- 
ness  is.  One  of  the  reasons  that  men  who  have  been 
prosperous  begin  to  fail  along  in  later  years  is  because  they 
have  forgotten  the  necessary  politeness  of  the  earlier 

148 


ON  POLITENESS  149 

day.  Politeness  when  once  forgotten  can  rarely  be  re 
membered.  It  ought  to  come  when  a  feller  is  young  in 
order  to  seem  natural.  The  fact  is,  it  must  be  natural, 
for  there's  nothin'  that  is  much  more  awkward  than  a  man 
in  his  maturer  life  tryin'  for  the  first  time  to  be  polite. 
If  a  young  feller  just  startin'  out  in  business  would  sit 
down  for  ten  minutes  a  day  and  give  his  mind  to  the  study 
of  politeness,  not  from  a  book  or  any  set  form,  but  from 
his  own  reflections,  he  would  find  it  the  best  investment 
of  time  he  ever  made.  Politeness  is  the  actor  of  kindness. 
It  is  intended  to  picture  the  even  and  well-intended  mind. 
It  is  a  pleasant  thought  set  in  visible  motion." 

"Lim,  as  the  old  nigger  preacher  said,  you  are  now 
puttin'  the  fodder  a  little  too  high  for  the  calves." 

"Not  at  all.  Fm  simply  speakin'  common  sense  as 
I  see  it,  and  if  I  see  it  anybody  ought.  We  very  often 
hear  of  polite  old  men,  but  there  are  more  polite  young 
felleas  than  old  ones.  Ailments  and  disappointments 
make  the  old  man  gruff,  unless  he  has  kept  company 
with  books.  He  believes  that  he  has  lived  to  see  the  use- 
lessness  of  politeness,  while  with  the  young  chap  it  is 
still  a  matter  of  advancin'  experiment." 

"Ah,"  Brizintine  spoke  up,  "but  if  the  old  man  finds 
that  politeness  is  a  failure  why  tell  the  young  feller  to 
practice  it?" 

"Very  well  put,  old  man.  Now  let  me  see  if  I'll  have 
to  shift  my  ground.  Let  me  look  about  and  see  if  you've 
got  me  cornered.  You  see,  I  never  know  whether  a 
thing  is  true  or  not  until  I  have  to  defend  it.  What  is 


150  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

the  use  of  a  young  feller  bein'  polite  if  he  sees  that  an 
old  man  has  failed  in  it  ?  The  fact  is,  that  the  old  man 
began  to  fail  about  the  time  he  forgot  his  politeness. 
Think  I've  got  you  there,  Briz.  If  I  haven't  I'm  willin' 
to  change  the  subject." 

"I  don't  know  that  you  have.  Anyhow,  I'd  like  to 
ask  you  this :  What's  the  use  of  a  man  tryin'  to  be  polite 
if  he  don't  feel  it  ?  Why  should  he  act  a  hypercrit  ?" 

"Shouldn't  act  a  hypercrit.  The  fact  is,  that  if  a 
man  begins  early  to  practice  politeness  it  will  after  a 
while  come  natural  to  him.  There  ain't  nothin'  that 
tastes  much  worse  at  first  than  a  chaw  of  tobacco  does, 
but  after  a  while  it's  sweeter  and  more  to  be  desired  than 
pie.  It  becomes  second  nature  and  second  nature  is 
twin  brother  with  first  nature  and  is  sometimes  stronger 
than  the  first-born.  Let  a  man  make  politeness,  by  which 
I  mean  acted  kindness,  just  as  much  of  a  second  nature 
as  he  makes  tobacco.  He  can  do  it.  There  never  was  a 
man  that  couldn't  find  some  way  to  change  his  nature 
from  bad  to  better.  He  can  be  surgeon  to  his  own  de 
formity.  The  greatest  man  of  all  said  that  there  was 
nothin'  good  nor  bad,  but  that  thinkin'  made  it  so." 

"Was  he  a  preacher?"  Brizintine  inquired. 

"Yes,  preached  inspiration  at  first  hand.  He  wrote 
'Hamlet.'  Did  you  ever  read  it?" 

"Don't  recollect,  but  I've  read  'Tempest  and  Sun 
shine.'  My  daughter  brought  it  from  school  with  her, 
where  she  was  a  teachin',  and  I  got  holdj  of  it.  I  didn't 
know  but  it  was  somethin'  about  the  crops  and  I  set 


ON  POLITENESS  151 

down,  I  did,  and  began  to  read  it.  And  I  don't  know 
yet  what  it  was  about.  Seemed  that  folks  in  love  was  a 
havin'  trouble.  Caught  myself  a  wipin'  of  my  eyes. 
Didn't  want  my  daughter  to  see  me  in  that  weak  fix,  so  I 
goes  out  and  called  up  the  hogs  and  fed  'em.  Feedin' 
of  the  hogs  is  an  offset  to  all  appearances,  you  know. 
But  speakin'  about  politeness,  how  can  a  farmer  be  polite 
with  his  sign  stuck  up,  'Keep  off  this  place!" 

"Well,  it  would  make  the  sign  stronger  to  say,  'Please 
keep  off.'  It  would  appeal  more  to  a  feller.  A  thousand 
men  may  be  influenced  by  politeness  where  one  is  scared. 
I  knew  a  man  that  spent  half  his  life  tryin'  to  scare  folks. 
He  wanted  to  be  known  as  a  bad  man.  Got  started  wrong 
when  he  was  a  boy — read  'Up  the  Gulch'  stuff.  I  saw 
him  not  long  ago  and  I  asked  him  if  he  had  scared  anybody 
yet.  He  sorter  hemmed  and  hawed  and  wanted  to  talk 
about  somethin'  else,  but  I  pinned  him  down.  Then 
he  told  me  that  he  thought  he  had  one  man  scared,  about 
three  years  before,  and  had  just  begun  to  believe  that  his 
work  for  all  that  long  half  a  lifetime  was  about  to  be 
rewarded  by  a  terrified  countenance.  But  suddenly  the 
feller  whipped  out  a  knife  and  came  at  him.  Afterward 
he  discovered  that  what  he  took  to  be  fright  on  the  feller's 
face  was  a  scar  left  by  a  scald.  Now  if  he  had  spent 
all  that  time  in  practisin'  politeness  it  might  have  netted 
him  somethin'.  It  wouldn't  have  humiliated  him.  Very 
few  men  have  ever  been  humbled  by  practisin'  politeness. 
You've  heard  the  old  story  of  a  great  man  ridin'  along  the 
road.  They  tell  it  on  Washington  and  Jackson  and  Clay; 


152  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

but  the  moral  is  the  same,  no  matter  who  it  was.  He  was  a 
ridin'  along  and  met  an  old  negro.  The  negro  took  off 
his  hat.  Then  the  great  man  took  off  his  hat.  Someone 
spoke  to  him  about  it.  'Why/  said  he,  'I  can't  afford 
to  let  a  negro  be  more  of  a  gentleman  than  I  am.'  There's 
a  lot  of  good  sense  in  that.  And  take  it  in  the  matter  of 
a  fight — a  moral  or  a  physical  fight.  At  the  very  beginnin' 
the  polite  man  generally  has  the  other  feller  more  than  half 
whipped.  If  I  were  givin'  advice  to  a  youngster  goin' 
away  from  home  to  seek  his  level  I'd  say  somethin'  like 
this:  'As  long  as  you  are  polite  you  have  full  control  of 
your  temper,  and  master  of  your  temper  you  are  master 
of  the  situation.  If  it  becomes  necessary  to  cuss  a  man 
do  it  in  the  very  best  terms  at  your  command.  And  if 
you  have  to  hit  him  hit  as  hard  as  possible,  for  in  a  fight 
hard  hittin'  is  a  politeness — unto  yourself.'  There  is  a 
difference,  Briz,  between  the  polite  man  and  the  fawner. 
One  is  a  man  and  the  other  has  missed  it.  His  intention 
is  too  plain.  He  shows  that  he  wants  to  do  you.  He 
stoops  in  his  humbleness  in  order  to  get  an  under  hold. 
No,  sir,  politeness  is  not  humbleness.  It  is  dignity  made 
pleasant.  It  is  a  countenance  with  a  lamp  behind  it.  Do 
you  think  there  would  be  so  many  divorces  if  men  and 
women  practised  the  politeness  they  did  before  they  were 
married  ?  Politeness  sometimes  carries  the  torch  for  love." 
"There  is  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  all  that  you  have 
said,"  remarked  Brizintine,  "but  I  can't  help  rememberm' 
that  you  wan't  very  polite  to  that  feller  Atcherson,  over 
the  creek,  several  years  ago." 


ON  POLITENESS  153 

"Oh,  Bill  Atcherson,"  Jucklin  replied.  "I  think  I  was. 
He  called  me  a  liar  and  I  didn't  dispute  his  word." 

"No,  but  you  knocked  him  down." 

"Yes,  but  knocked  him  over  toward  a  place  where 
the  ground  was  the  softest.  I  did  the  best  I  could  for 
him  under  the  circumstances.  I  could  have  gone  further 
— could  have  called  him  a  liar  and  knocked  him  down  in 
addition.  But  I  didn't.  I  was  polite." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
ON  OPPORTUNITY  FOR  THE  AGED 

SPRING  had  begun  to  creep  up  out  of  the  valley.  The 
day  breathed  scents  not  yet  quite  ripe  enough  for  perfume. 
It  was  like  youth — delightful  in  promises.  In  the  court 
house  yard,  in  the  county  town,  beneath  the  locust 
trees,  there  sat  the  county  judge,  several  old  lawyers,  the 
oldest  man  in  the  village,  and  Limuel  Jucklin.  In  the 
spring,  when  we  see  the  renewal  of  nature's  purposes,  we 
talk  of  opportunity.  We  feel  that  we  are  to  have  one  more 
chance.  The  old  man's  blood,  the  reminiscent  sap  of  a 
declining  life,  is  quicker.  "Opportunity  is  ever  present," 
said  Jucklin.  "It  is  one  of  the  staples  in  life's  store 
house.  Man  doesn't  need  to  make  opportunity.  It's 
here  anyhow.  He  can't  make  it.  He  can  sometimes 
arrange  combinations,  but  he  doesn't  have  to  create  the 
material.  Opportunity  throws  its  light  into  the  eye  of 
the  young  feller.  It  is  like  the  glow  worm.  He  can't 
help  seein'  it,  more  or  less.  It  is  the  old  feller  that 
needs  to  have  opportunity  pointed  out  to  him. 
His  sight  has  failed  him  and  he  can't  see  the 
light.  Youth  don't  need  encouragement.  Its  own  swift 
blood  encourages  it.  What  we  ought  to  do  is  to 
encourage  age." 

154 


ON  OPPORTUNITY  FOR  THE  AGED     155 

"Then  you  think  the  old  man  ought  to  have  a  chance  ?'' 
said  the  county  judge. 

"That's  exactly  what  I  think.  And  the  young  chap 
ought  to  be  interested,  since  if  he  lives  he  is  soon  to  be  old. 
It  won't  be  half  as  long  a  comin'  as  he  thinks  it  will, 
lookin'  forward.  We  are  too  much  inclined  to  compli 
ment  the  old  folks  for  what  they  have  done  and  then 
politely,  and  sometimes  even  impolitely,  tell  them  to  stand 
aside  to  keep  from  bein'  run  over  by  the  procession.  It 
is  true  that  the  old  man  ain't  supple  enough  for  a  drum 
major,  but  he  can  beat  a  bass  drum  a  long  time  after 
some  people  think  he  can't;  and  out  of  the  fife  he  may  get 
a  mighty  sweet  tune.  But  of  course  the  procession  is  in  a 
hurry  and  can't  be  expected  to  wait  on  him.  I  don't  say 
it  should  wait.  However,  it  ought  not  to  tread  on  the  old 
man  simply  because  it  is  in  a  hurry." 

"A  feller  came  within  an  inch  of  drivin'  a  hoss  over 
me  the  other  day,"  said  an  old  man,  too  literal  to  see  a 
spiritual  inference.  "And  I  yelled  at  him,  I  did,  and  I 
told  him  that  if  I  could  call  back  about  twenty  years  I'd 
give  him  a  thrashin'.  That's  what  I  told  him." 

"And  right  there  was  where  you  were  doin'  yourself 
an  injustice,"  Lim  replied.  "You  were  makin'  yourself 
older.  You  went  back  into  the  past.  It  would  have  been 
better  if  you  had  told  him  that  if  he  were  twenty  years 
older  you  would  thrash  him.  Never  go  back  to  where 
you  were,  but  bring  tilings  to  where  you  now  stand. 
Remember  one  thing,  that  it  is  mind  instead  of  physical 
activity  that  has  made  this  world  great,  and  that  as 


156  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

long  as  a  man  feeds  his  mind  it  will  grow.  One  of  the 
greatest  of  men  that  lived  away  before  the  Saviour  said 
that  age  always  has  youth  enough  left  to  learn.  And  as 
long  as  we  learn  we  grow.  If  we  forget  old  things  let  us 
learn  new  ones.  The  egotist  gets  old  quicker  than  any 
body  else  for  the  reason  that  he  thinks  he  knows  it  all. 
Ignorance  is  always  old.  Wisdom  is  always  young. 
Many  years  ago  there  lived  a  man  named  Louis  Cornaro. 
At  forty  he  thought  himself  old  enough  to  die.  His 
health  was  bad.  He  had  worn  himself  out.  But  he  had 
sense  enough  not  to  believe  that  he  knew  it  all.  So  he 
began  to  diet  himself.  He  ate  just  as  much  as  was  good 
for  him.  He  discovered  that  his  appetite  was  treacherous 
and  called  for  more  food  than  was  necessary.  Then  he 
took  up  a  system  of  readin'.  He  made  it  a  point  to  learn 
somethin'  out  of  a  book  or  out  of  nature  every  day.  Well, 
at  ninety  he  wrote  a  book,  and  it  was  a  good  one,  too. 
It  was  filled  with  the  keenest  sense.  No  one  that  has 
ever  written  on  life  has  beaten  it.  Then  he  waited  ten 
years  and  wrote  another  book,  just  to  see  if  he  could. 
The  book  was  strong,  full  of  fun — a  smile.  And  it 
tickled  him  so  that  he  laughed  for  three  years  before  he 
died.  He  never  did  anything  until  he  was  old.  The 
youngsters  could  thrust  aside  his  body,  but  his  mind 
wouldn't  be  thrust.  He  kept  it  active  with  learnin' 
things." 

"But,"  said  the  county  judge,  "don't  you  believe  that 
a  man's  brain  grows  old  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  and  so  does  his  hair— if  he  keeps  it;  and  so 


ON  OPPORTUNITY  FOR  THE  AGED    157 

does  his  house.  But  the  brain  isn't  the  mind  and  the 
house  is  not  his  life.  If  the  brain  were  the  mind  the 
man  with  the  heaviest  brain  would  have  the  greatest 
mind.  Webster  had  a  heavy  brain,  and  these  fellers  that 
make  much  of  that  sort  of  thing  raised  a  great  to-do  over 
it;  but  while  they  were  in  the  midst  of  their  wonder  a 
negro  was  hanged  for  murder.  They  weighed  his  brain 
and  found  that  it  was  a  third  heavier  than  Webster's. 
He  was  not  only  a  murderer,  but  was  little  short  of  bein' 
an  idiot.  No,  sir,  the  mind  isn't  physical.  It  doesn't 
have  much  of  kinship  with  the  body.  Alexander  Stephens 
was  almost  a  dwarf.  The  poet  Byron  wore  a  six  and  a 
quarter  hat.  But  old  Bill  Sanderson  that  lives  out  here 
hasn't  more  than  sense  enough  to  drive  up  the  calves, 
and  he  can't  get  a  hat  in  town  big  enough  for  him.  A 
man  is  useful  as  long  as  he  can  think.  He  thinks  as  long 
as  he  learns.  When  he  gives  up  his  mind,  why,  his  mind 
gives  him  up.  Old  men  talk  too  much  and  read  too 
little.  The  mind  needs  food.  And  this  mind  food  is  not 
to  be  raked  up  out  of  the  past — of  your  own  life.  The 
past  is  worth  nothin'  except  as  it  serves  as  a  light  for  the 
future.  This  has  been  said  more  than  once,  but  that 
doesn't  make  it  less  true.  An  old  man  dreams  that  he  is 
young.  It  is  rare  that  he  dreams  of  bein'  older.  And  in 
his  dream  of  youth  great  ideas  sometimes  come  to  him. 
He  awakes  younger,  but  his  disappointment  at  findin' 
himself  still  old  robs  his  mind  of  the  freshness  it  drew 
from  the  dream.  Sometimes  a  suddenly  awakened 
determination  will  make  a  man  younger.  There  was  old 


158  OLD   LIM   JUCKLIN 

Buck  Jamieson.  He  was  not  only  shoved  aside,  but 
jammed  up  against  the  fence.  Well,  one  day  he  got 
into  a  row  with  a  feller  younger  than  himself — forgot  his 
age  and  whipped  him.  Then  he  went  home  and  caught 
his  hoss  and  put  the  plow  gear  on  him. 

"'Why,  Buck/  said  his  wife,  'what  on  earth  are  you 
goin'  to  do?' 

"'I'm  goin'  out  in  the  field  to  plow.  That  bottom 
field  is  mightily  in  the  grass.' 

"'Why,  Buck,'  says  she,  'you  can't  plow.' 

'"Can't?     Who  said  so?' 

"'But  you're  too  old.' 

"'Is  that  so?'  said  Buck;  and  with  that  he  went  on  out 
into  the  field  and  plowed.  The  neighbours  were  as 
tonished,  but  Buck  kept  on  a  plowin'  and  I  reckon  if 
he  hadn't  been  killed  tryin'  to  break  a  colt  he  would 
have  been  plowin'  till  yet." 

"Tried  to  break  a  colt/'  said  the  judge.  "That  shows 
that  age  went  too  far." 

"Yes,  but  it  showed  also  that  age  was  young  again  or 
it  wouldn't  have  gone  too  far.  Nothin'  is  a  better  proof 
of  youth  than  to  go  too  far.  And  that  brings  us  down  to  an 
important  point.  Youth  goes  too  far  and  age  doesn't  go 
far  enough,  as  a  general  thing.  It  is  when  a  man  strikes 
a  compromise  between  the  two  that  he  has  reached  his 
best.  But  his  best  lasts  longer  than  some  folks  suppose. 
It  is  said  that  the  most  of  the  poetry  is  written  by  young 
men.  I  reckon  this  is  true.  But  the  most  of  the  poetry 
isn't  worth  readin'  and  doesn't  live  much  longer  than  it 


ON  OPPORTUNITY  FOR  THE  AGED     159 

takes  them  to  write  it.  The  most  valuable  writin'  comes 
out  of  experience,  which  is  wisdom;  and  without  age  there 
can  be  no  very  great  experience.  I  reckon  the  best  prize 
fighters  are  between  twenty  and  thirty,  certainly  not 
much  more  than  thirty;  but  the  world  could  manage  to 
get  along  without  prize  fighters.  Old  Oliver  Cromwell 
was  somethin'  of  a  fighter,  but  he  was  unknown  until  he 
was  gettin'  old.  I  have  noticed  that  age  makes  a  bigger 
liar  of  a  liar.  As  long  as  a  liar  can  grow  he  is  improving 
and  if  a  lie  can  grow  it  seems  to  me  that  wisdom  can 
manage  to  move  up  a  few  pegs  as  we  go  along.  Let  the 
old  man  take  his  mind  off  his  ailments  and  put  it  on  a  book. 
And  the  first  thing  he  knows  his  mind  will  be  bigger  and 
his  ailments  less.  Yonder  comes  old  Jerry  Dabs.  Now 
Jerry  is  nearing  eighty,  and  nobody  ever  caught  him  in  a 
truth.  And  suppose  he  should  make  an  effort  now  and 
tell  the  truth.  Wouldn't  that  be  an  improvement? 
Wouldn't  it  show  an  advance,  even  at  his  age  ?  I  want  to 
tell  you,  gentlemen,  we've  all  got  an  opportunity  to  do 
somethin*.  We  can  at  least  go  home  and  tell  our  wives 
that  business  detained  us." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

SHAKESPEARE 

IT  was  a  ginger-cake-and-cider  social  at  the  house  of 
Limuel  Jucklin.  Miss  Pauline  Rainey  had  sung  some 
thing  which,  as  it  was  whispered  about,  had  come  out  of  a 
grand  opera,  and  the  minister  had  told  a  story  which 
might  have  come  out  of  the  ark,  when  Josh  Dolittle 
remarked:  "Uncle  Lim,  on  several  occasions  we  have 
heard  you  mention  a  feller  named  Shakespeare.  I  take  it 
he  lived  a  good  deal  before  our  time — was  a  circuit  jedge, 
mebby;  and  we'd  like  for  you  to  tell  us  a  little  somethin' 
about  him,  bein'  as  he  must  have  been  one  of  the  early 
settlers." 

"Oh,  please  do,"  cried  Dolittle's  sister,  an  oldish  girl 
who  had  begun  to  "respruce"  herself  since  the  death 
of  the  minister's  wife. 

Old  Limuel  smiled.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "Shakespeare 
was  an  early  settler.  He  was  one  of  the  earliest  ones  to 
settle  the  fact  that  the  grandest  thoughts  of  man  and  the 
strongest  passions  of  the  world  had  been  set  forth  in  words. 
Shakespeare  was  a  poet." 

"You  don't  say  so?"  replied  Dolittle,  with  his  mouth 
remaining  half  open,  as  if  it  were  not  in  good  keeping 
to  close  it  so  soon  upon  his  own  astonishment. 

160 


SHAKESPEARE  161 

"Yes,  sir,  a  poet,"  said  Lim.  "And  his  book  is  next 
to  the  Bible." 

The  minister,  with  his  head  turned  toward  Miss  Do- 
little,  slowly  nodded  an  agreement  to  this  judgment;  and 
old  Mrs.  Benson  remarked:  "Well,  I  didn't  know  that. 
Tell  me  about  it." 

"Owned  a  good  deal  of  land  I  reckon,"  observed  Jim 
Daggart,  who  held  mortgages  on  the  domains  of  several 
of  his  neighbours. 

"Oh,  yes,"  Lim  replied.  "He  owned  all  the  land  there 
was — and  all  of  the  sea;  and  the  stars  paid  rent  to  him, 
for  they  lived  in  his  territory." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  say  that,"  said  the  minister;  and  Miss 
Dolittle  remarked,  "Oh,  no;  I  wouldn't  say  that." 

"I  don't  say  it  profanely,"  replied  Limuel.  "It  was 
a  figger  of  speech.  But  a  figger  of  speech  may  have 
truth  in  it.  The  universe  is  no  greater  than  the  human 
heart.  And  of  the  human  heart  Shakespeare  was  the 
confidential  friend.  As  soon  as  a  thought  was  born  any 
where  in  the  world  he  knew  it.  He  was  the  nurse  of 
ideas.  He  said  things  that  hundreds  of  people  had  already 
thought,  but  which  had  lain  dumb  in  their  souls.  He 
also  knew  things  that  were  goin'  to  be  said  in  the  future, 
and  said  'em.  It  didn't  make  any  difference  to  him  that 
he  was  a  livin'  away  back  there  in  the  past.  Why,  for 
him  there  wan't  any  past  and  no  future.  With  him  all 
was  the  eternal  now." 

"Well,  just  think  of  that,"  said  Miss  Dolittle,  looking  at 
the  preacher. 


162  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"Bet  they  sent  him  to  the  Legislature  every  time  he 
wanted  to  go,"  declared  Daggart. 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  I  believe  he  did  get  to  be  a  justice  of 
the  peace  or  somethin'  of  the  sort,"  said  Lim.  "But 
money  was  as  powerful  then  as  it  is  now — the  average  man 
was  just  as  short  of  sight;  'and  wisdom  cried  out  in  the 
street  and  no  man  took  heed/  In  this  respect  the  world 
hasn't  changed.  Why,  there  were  men  that  nobody  has 
heard  of  since  that  time — men  with  a  few  thousand,  with 
titles  and  ribbons  tied  about  their  shanks — men  that 
wouldn't  have  spoken  to  the  poet  if  they  had  met  him  in 
the  post  office;  and  a  man  that  won't  speak  to  you  in  the 
post  office  has  got  you  down  putty  far  underneath  his  con 
tempt.  The  folks  that  saw  Shakespeare  every  day  didn't 
think  he  was  great.  The  fact  is,  that  the  oftener  they  saw 
him  the  less  great  he  was.  He  built  a  playhouse  for  the 
children  of  men  and  he  wrote  down  things  for  the  children 
to  say;  and  the  pufTed-up  chaps  that  come  to  the  play 
house  'lowed,  'Well,  yes,  that  will  do  putty  well — for 
the  sort.'  They  didn't  know  that  the  sort  was  for  all  time. 
Proud  men  were  a  thunderin'  in  the  churches  where  there 
were  gold  candlesticks  and  books  bound  in  silver  and  set 
with  diamonds.  But  these  proud  and  educated  men 
didn't  know  that  the  Lord's  inspiration  had  found  its 
way  to  that  playhouse  where  common  folks  stood  up  to 
listen.  The  men  that  sat  down  were  the  rich.  And  when 
they  had  heard  they  forgot,  but  the  words  spoken  by  the 
children  of  men  that  were  playin'  remained  in  the  minds 
and  the  hearts  of  the  poor.  Ah,  and  no  man  that  didn't 


SHAKESPEARE  163 

breathe  his  words  upon  the  lowly  heart  has  ever  been 
great.  They  may  have  called  him  great,  but  he  wa'n't. 
The  greatest  man  is  the  one  who  has  had  the  most  sym 
pathy  with  man.  The  highest  pinnacle  that  this  world 
ever  reached  was  when  it  listened  to  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount.  The  roar  of  cannon  may  have  meant  human 
liberty.  But  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  meant  human 
brotherhood;  and  brotherhood  is  the  flower  and  the  per 
fume  of  liberty." 

"I  reckon  he's  a-talkin'  some  now,"  said  Dolittle. 

"He's  treed  the  thing  sure  enough,"  declared  Daggart. 

"Very  worthily  expressed,"  said  the  minister;  and  Miss 
Dolittle  smiled  and  in  her  smile  might  have  been  read  the 
words,  "Put  your  mind  down  on  that  if  you  can." 

"But,"  observed  the  preacher,  "Shakespeare  wrote  in 
most  exalted  style.  He  could  not  have  been  addressing 
himself  to  the  poor." 

"His  exaltation  of  language  was  the  raiment  of  the  poor," 
Lim  replied.  "The  wealthy  didn't  need  the  rich  garb 
of  his  words.  They  had  silks  woven  in  the  hand  loom. 
The  velvets  and  the  satins  woven  in  the  loom  of  a  God- 
given  imagination  were  too  shadowy  for  them.  But  out 
from  among  those  shadows  the  poor  in  purse  but  the  rich 
in  fancy  gathered  his  wardrobe  and  clothed  himself.  And 
every  man  that  has  been  able  to  do  this  has  been  purpled 
like  an  emperor." 

"He  keeps  on  a  travelin',"  said  Dolittle. 

"  He's  mendin'  his  licks  every  minit,"  Daggart  remarked. 
"Lim,  we'll  have  you  up  a  preachin'  before  long." 


164  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"Now,  don't  blaspheme,"  said  old  Mrs.  Benson.  And 
turning  to  Jucklin  she  added:  "I  ain't  forgot,  Limuel, 
that  I  heard  you  cuss  your  steers  one  day." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  Lim  replied,  "and  the  man  that  could 
drive  them  steers  without  cussin'  ain't  got  spirit  enough  in 
him  to  cast  the  shadow  of  immortality  into  the  eternity 
of  a  jaybird.  I'm  a  talkin'  to  you,  ma'am.  Them 
critters  they  ran  away  with  me,  ran  through  a  thicket  of 
wild  plum  bushes  and  tore  me  into  shreds ;  and  if  I  hadn't 
cussed  'em  the  Lord  never  would  have  forgiven  me." 

"Limuel,"  said  his  wife,  "don't  humiliate  me  any 
further,  please.  Talk  about  your  man  that  could  make 
clothes  outen  shadows,  but  don't  humiliate  me." 

"All  right,  Susan,  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"I  think,  myself,"  said  the  minister,  "that  you  show 
to  much  more  of  advantage  when  you  talk  on  the — I  might 
say — the  subject  of  your  favourite  poet.  It  is  then  that  you 
forget  many  of  your,  well,  I  might  say — mannerisms." 

"Yes,  a  man  can  talk  best  on  the  subject  that  interests 
him  the  most.  But  it  would  seem  that  everything  has 
been  said  on  Shakespeare  that  could  be  said,  and  yet  he  is 
still  the  most  fruitful  text  that  the  mind  of  man  can  take 
up.  I  mean  any  text  that  applies  to  what  we  know  and 
not  what  we  speculate  over.  He  knew  more  about  the 
body  and  guessed  shrewder  at  the  soul  than  any  other  man. 
His  mind  was  an  ocean  with  so  many  tides  that  it  never 
grew  stale." 

"But  he's  dead  I  take  it,"  said  Dolittle. 

"Well,  yes,  he  complimented  death  by  dyin'.     But  he 


SHAKESPEARE  165 

left  his  great  wardrobe  to  all  succeedin'  generations.  Not 
only  that,  he  gave  to  humanity  the  key  to  his  exhaustless 
corn  crib.  He  left  unlocked  the  stable  where  the  swiftest 
steeds  are  standin'  in  the  stalls,  waitin'  to  be  rid  across 
the  country,  over  the  mountain,  up  into  the  clouds;  and 
comin'  up  over  the  hill  right  out  yonder  is  the  moon,  his 
moon,  that  he  spoke  about  so  often.  He  made  it  tenderer 
for  you  and  me.  And  the  man  that  makes  the  moon 
brighter  and  tenderer  makes  the  road  to  Heaven  easier." 

"  Must  have  had  a  big  funeral,"  spoke  up  Abner  Hower- 
son,  the  neighbourhood  undertaker. 

"Yes,"  Lim  replied.  "The  procession  started  nearly 
three  hundred  years  ago  and  the  tail  end  of  it  isn't  in  sight 
yet.  And  the  descendants  of  men  that  wouldn't  have 
spoken  to  him  in  the  post  office  would  now  give  their 
wealth  for  a  handful  of  the  straw  he  slept  on.  But  you 
can't  blame  man.  He  was  born  blind  and  sometimes 
his  eyes  are  never  opened." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
AT  THE  THEATRE 

THE  newspaper  had  said  that  at  a  certain  time  there 
would  begin  in  the  city  a  Shakespearian  revival.  From 
the  Jucklin  neighbourhood  there  was  one  contribution — 
old  Limuel  himself.  The  city — a  town  of  about  thirty 
thousand  inhabitants — was  sixty  miles  distant.  Out  in  the 
woods  of  the  past  such  a  journey  is  still  looked  upon  with 
respect  if  not  in  wonder;  and  several  of  the  neighbours 
went  with  the  old  man  to  the  county  seat,  to  shake  his  hand 
at  the  steps  of  the  train.  Four  days  later  it  was  known 
that  he  had  returned.  His  friends  gathered  about  him, 
and  in  the  evening  he  broke  warm  bread  with  them.  At 
the  table  were  the  "intelligence  and  the  morality"  of  the 
community.  The  country  editor  afterward  remarked  that 
not  a  word  was  spoken  that  would  have  offended  the  most 
fastidious.  Why  there  should  be  a  defense  against  the 
possibility  of  the  use  of  such  a  word  is  not  known,  but  the 
genius  of  the  country  editor  lies  in  the  utterance  of  the 
unexpected. 

"Well,"  said  old  man  Brizintine,  mopping  a  hot  biscuit 
into  a  plaster  of  molasses,  "I  reckon  you  went  to  the  revival 
you  so  spoke  about." 

"Yes,  I  was  there  both  early  and  late,"  Limuel  replied. 

166 


AT  THE  THEATRE  167 

"Putty   good   preachin'    at   the    revival?"    Brizintine 
inquired. 

"Preachin'?" 

"Yes.     Didn't  you  say  it  was  a  revival?" 

"Ah,  hah;  but  it  was  a  Shakespeare  revival.  It  was 
what  you  might  call  a  show." 

Old  Aunt  Becky  Wigglesworth  raised  her  hands. 
"Limuel,  is  it  possible  you  went  all  that  distance  to  a 
show  ?  I  should  think  you  had  lived  long  enough  not  to 
want  to  see  a  feller  dressed  scandalous  turn  a  back'ard 
summerset  through  a  hoop  with  a  piece  of  paper  pasted 
over  it.  But  my,  you  can't  tell  about  the  men  these  days. 
I  don't  reckon,  however,  they've  changed  very  much.  I 
recollect  that  shortly  after  me  and  Mr.  Wigglesworth 
was  married  we  went  to  a  circis,  and  when  a  woman 
dressed  as  no  daughter  of  mine  would  dress — unless 
mebby  she  was  a  goin'  in  a  swimmin' — come  out  and 
began  to  flop  about  on  a  hoss,  I  says  to  my  husband,  says 
I,  'Dan'l,  it  is  time  for  us  to  go.'  And  he  says,  'Well,  no, 
not  as  long  as  this  sort  of  thing  keeps  up.'  Said  that  to 
me — and  we  hadn't  been  married  more  than  three  weeks. 
Did  they  have  the  sacred  ox,  Limuel?" 

"  No,"  Lim  answered,  "  they  didn't  have  any  beef  cattle 
at  all.  This  wa'n't  a  circus,  Aunt  Becky.  It  was  a  theatre, 
a  play." 

"Oh,  somethin'  like  'Old  Sister  Pheby,  How  Merry  Was 
She?'  I  should  think  you  was  too  old  for  that  sort  of 
cavortin',  Limuel.  I  lay  you  didn't  go  with  him,  Susan," 
she  added,  addressing  Mrs.  Juckliu. 


168  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"Double  deed  I  didn't.  I  had  somethin'  else  on  my 
mind.  The  hens  are  a  nestin'.  Lim  has  been  tryin'  to 
tell  me  about  it,  but  I  can't  make  heads  or  tails  of  it." 

"At  our  college,"  said  the  preacher,  "we  performed 
a  Shakespearian  play — with  certain  eliminations.  I  well 
remember  thfe  declaiming  of  young  Oscar  Pruitt  as  Ham 
let.  Ah,  but  the  applause  he  received  was  his  ultimate 
downfall.  It  lived  in  his  mind,  and  years  afterward  he 
shamelessly  deserted  the  pulpit  and  took  to  the  stage.  But 
in  a  godless  town  where  he  made  his  first  appearance  a 
minion  of  the  evil  one  struck  him  between  the  eyes  with  a 
goose  egg — in  the  soliloquy  scene — and  he  was  so  morti 
fied  that  he  fled  to  the  Mississippi  River  and  spent  the 
remainder  of  his  life  in  playing  poker  on  a  steamboat. 
But  what  play  did  you  see,  Brother  Limuel?" 

'' '  Macbeth/  I  had  read  it  over  and  over  many  a  time. 
I  could  see  night  scarfin'  up  the  eye  of  day — could  see  the 
bats  skimmin'  the  dark  edges  of  the  comin'  night,  and 
could  hear  the  screech  owls.  I  could  hear  the  wind 
mournin*  among  the  winter-stiffened  twigs  of  the  trees — 
could  see  the  ocean  turnin'  red  as  Macbeth  tried  to  wash 
the  blood  off  his  hands — could  hear  the  poor  wretches 
mutterin'  in  their  sleep  as  Duncan's  gore  was  smeared 
on  their  faces — could  see  and  hear  everything.  It  was 
real.  But  the  thing  I  saw  in  the  theatre  fell  short.  I 
knew  that  the  walls  were  canvas.  And  then  I  thought 
of  a  great  fact — that  Shakespeare  carried  his  scenery  be 
tween  his  lines,  that  he  threw  a  valley,  a  hill  into  the 
mind  and  made  it  live — a  reality.  This  play  I  saw  was  over- 


AT  THE  THEATRE  169 

loaded  with  flimsy  things,  flaps  that  shook — and  the  men 
and  women  didn't  make  me  believe  they  were  in  earnest. 
I'd  rather  read  it,  for  then  Shakespeare  acts  it  himself 
and  we  know  he  was  in  earnest  and  believed  it  was  all  a 
truth.  I  waited  for  the  utterance  of  the  great  ideas  that 
sometimes  in  the  dark  of  the  night  when  the  wind  was  a 
blowin'  and  the  creek  a  roarin'  had  pulled  me  up  out  of  my 
chair;  and  I  looked  forward  to  the  wonderful  pictures  that 
in  my  loneliness  had  been  flashed  upon  me,  but  they 
didn't  come — the  ideas  nor  the  pictures.  There  wa'n't 
no — I  hardly  know  what  to  call  it — there  wa'n't  no  jolt. 
I  didn't  get  scared.  I  didn't  feel  like  somebody  had 
jumped  out  of  the  dark  at  me." 

"Then  you  were  disappointed,"  said  the  preacher. 

"Yes,  for  I  didn't  meet  the  appointed  thing  on  the 
hilltop.  I  couldn't  climb  the  hill,  for  it  crumbled  under 
my  feet.  The  woods  moved  up  toward  me  like  shadows. 
Mebby  I'm  loo  old — I  don't  know.  But  after  I  got  back 
I  took  down  my  book  and  turned  to  the  play,  and  the  first 
thing  I  knowed  there  was  that  somethin'  a  creepin'  up 
my  back,  and  I  lived  in  it  again.  Yes,  I'd  rather  play  it 
myself.  Then  the  old  castle  is  made  of  real  rocks.  Then 
I  can  look  away  up  and  see  the  banners  floutin'  the  sky 
and  fannin'  the  people  cold.  I  reckon  that  is  what  you 
call  imagination.  But  too  much  paint  and  cloth  kill  it. 
There  is  too  much  of  a  label  everywhere,  tellin'  you  what 
it  is." 

"  I  like  a  right  good  sleight-of-hand  show,"said  Brizintine. 
"There  was  a  feller  over  at  our  schoolhouse  one  night 


170  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

not  long  ago  that  could  call  the  cows  home,  I  tell  you. 
He  swallered  a  knife  as  long — long  as  a  stick  of  stove  wood. 
And  he  done  the  funniest  thing  you  ever  seen.  He  called 
on  somebody  to  go  up  on  the  platform  and  Bill  Hancy 
he  went  up,  and  he  took  Bill's  hat  and  pulled  out  baby 
clothes  till  it  looked  like  a  week's  washin'.  Oh,  he  done 
a  good  many  things — about  as  great  a  man  as  I  ever  saw. 
And  now  mebby  he  could  have  helped  your  show  out, 
Limuel.  Wouldn't  you  have  liked  it  better  if  a  few  of 
them  sort  of  tricks  had  been  put  into  it  ?  That  would  have 
made  it  look  real.  Why,  you  couldn't  ketch  this  feller, 
a  lookin'  right  at  him.  Talk  about  things  bein'  real! 
Stuck  a  butcher  knife  through  his  arm  and  there  it  was — 
beat  up  a  gold  watch  and  put  it  into  a  pistol  and  shot  it 
right  into  the  middle  of  a  lemon — and  it  come  out,  i'gad,  as 
good  as  ever  and  with  a  ribbon  tied  to  it.  Why,  Miss 
Sallie  Lane's  got  the  ribbon  till  now,  and  it's  a  real  ribbon, 
too.  Don't  you  think  he  would  have  helped  your  show, 
Lim?" 

"Yes,  he  might  have  kept  some  of  them  mush-utterin' 
fellers  from  talkin'.  They  talked  as  no  human  being 
ever  talked  on  this  earth — and  the  faces  they  made  at 
each  other  would  sour  a  mornin's  milkin'.  But  they  had 
some  right  good  fiddlin'.  They  played  all  the  evenin' 
and  didn't  break  a  string.  Dock  Spillers,  over  here  on 
the  creek,  would  have  broke  five  or  six  in  the  same  length 
of  time.  But  I  guess  they  must  be  better  fiddlers  than  he 
is — but  I  believe  he  can  play  louder.  Mebby  it  is  because 
he  generally  has  more  room.  He  sets  out  on  the  shed  and 


AT  THE  THEATRE  171 

plays.  Yes,  I  was  disappointed  in  my  trip.  All  of  my 
life  I  had  been  a  longin'  to  see  Shakespeare  played.  But 
turnin*  from  the  book  to  the  actin'  was  like  puttin'  aside 
the  Bible  to  listen  to  some  jim-crow  of  a  preacher — I  beg 
your  pardon,  parson.  I  mean  one  of  these  fellers  that 
answers  when  the  Lord  has  called  someone  else.  Nobody 
likes  good  preachin'  better  than  I  do.  But  I  want  sincerity. 
I  want  to  be  convinced  that  the  preacher  has  himself  been 
convinced.  And  that  was  what  them  actors  didn't  do. 
They  didn't  make  me  believe  that  they  waVt  actin'. 
They  didn't  tell  me  the  truth;  and  you  may  have  all  the 
music  and  all  the  pictures  and  fail  to  tell  the  truth  and 
you  have  accomplished  nothin'." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
ON  THE  POKER  PLAYER 

OLD  Limuel  had  occasion  to  remain  over  night  at  the 
little  hotel  in  the  county  town.  After  supper  he  observed 
several  men  moving  about  mysteriously.  They  went 
up  the  stairs.  Not  long  afterward  a  young  fellow  came 
down,  spoke  to  old  Lim  and  took  a  seat  beside  him.  It 
seemed  that  he  was  struggling  with  himself  to  keep  quiet. 

"Well,  Harvey,  how  are  you  gettin'  along?"  the  old 
man  inquired,  looking  at  him  with  a  knowing  eye. 

"Oh,  very  well.  Say,  Uncle  Lim,  I  came  to  town 
rather  hurriedly  to-day  and  didn't  bring  as  much  money 
as  I  needed — and  if  you  will  let  me  have  ten  dollars  till 
to-morrow  I'll  be  much  obliged  to  you." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him.  "Broke  you  about  the 
firsthand,  didn't  they?" 

The  young  fellow  strove  to  appear  surprised.  "Broke 
me!" 

"Ah,  hah.  I  guess  you  picked  up  somethin'  you 
thought  couldn't  be  beaten.  Three  aces  do  look  beau 
tiful." 

"Uncle  Lim,  I  hope  you  don't  think 3 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all.  But  I  was  just  thinkin'  how  putty 
three  aces  look  to  the  young  feller  that  hasn't  been  playin' 

172 


ON  THE  POKER  PLAYER  173 

long.  They  are  three  delightful  tunes  made  visible. 
Each  one  is  sweeter  than  the  other  one;  and  they  are  puttier 
and  puttier  as  the  pot  is  raised  until  finally  they  go  into 
a  sudden  decline.  And  when  some  feller  shows  down  the 
power  of  mathematics  or  the  potent  glow  of  colours — a 
straight  or  a  flush — why  then  the  north  wind  mourns 
among  the  gravestones." 

"Uncle  Lim,  I  hope  you  won't  say  anything  about  it 
out  our  way,  but  I  was  in  a  little  game  just  now;  and  if 
you  will  let  me  have  ten  dollars  till  to-morrow — I  believe  I 
can  win  out.  The  fellow  just  happened  to  make  a  flush 
against  my  three  aces,  and " 

"Yes,  Harvey,  and  you  jest  happened  to  have  the  three 
aces.  Poker  is  a  game  just  happened.  And  I  know 
exactly  how  you  feel.  Every  nerve  within  you  is  tinglin* 
to  get  back  into  that  game.  And  the  strike  of  a  black 
bass  is  nothin*  to  the  thrill  of  fillin'  a  hand.  When  you 
have  kings  up,  draw  one  card  and  ketch  a  king,  it  is  like 
the  dawn  of  genius.  It  is  the  comin'  of  spring  all  of  a 
sudden,  and  the  burstin'  into  bloom  of  all  nature.  The 
candles  have  been  lighted  in  the  temple  and  you  are  ready 
to  worship,  you  are  so  grateful;  but  you  don't  think  of  the 
feller  across  the  table.  Mebby  he's  got  three  aces.  He  is 
listenin'  to  their  sweet  tunes,  and  soon  he  is  to  hear  the 
mournin'  of  the  north  wind.  But  you  want  the  ten 
dollars,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  and  you  can  count  on  it  to-morrow." 

"But  why  do  you  feel  so  confident  that  you'll  win? 
Just  because  you  have  lost  ?  The  fact  that  you  have  lost 


174  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

is  no  proof  that  you'll  win,  my  son.  Bad  luck  is  a  sort  of 
stammerer;  it  repeats  itself.  The  unlucky  man  is  nearly 
always  the  most  hopeful,  and  he's  at  the  disadvantage  of 
playin'  against  his  own  temperament.  If  I  were  goin'  to 
say  that  the  devil  had  invented  a  phrase,  I  would  say  it's 
this:  ' Luck  is  bound  to  change/  And  it  is  a  wise  old  gag 
of  the  man  who  said  it  did  change — got  worse.  But  I'll 
let  you  have  the  ten  dollars." 

"I  thank  you,  Uncle  Lim." 

"I'll  let  you  have  it,  but  not  until  after  I've  told  you 
somethin'.  I'm  not  goin'  to  give  you  a  lecture,  you  under 
stand.  I  don't  believe  in  them  very  much.  They  seem 
to  come  too  late." 

"But  what  is  it  you  were  goin'  to  tell  me?" 

He  moved  uneasily  and  twice  he  held  out  his  hand  for 
the  money.  The  old  man  pretended  not  to  notice  his 
growing  impatience.  "Yes,  I'll  tell  you.  You  don't  re 
member  your  father  very  well,  do  you,  Harvey?" 

"No,  sir,  I  wasn't  more  than  five  years  old  when  he 
died." 

"Just  about  five,  I  should  think.  Well,  your  father 
and  I  used  to  run  together  a  long  time  ago.  I  was  with 
him  when  he  married  your  mother.  You  were  the  youngest 
of  six." 

"Yes,  sir," 

"Jim  was  a  good  feller,"  said  the  old  man,  turning  a 
kindly  eye  back  upon  the  glowing  past.  "A  good  feller, 
brave  and  generous — and  with  the  rest  of  the  brave  and  the 
generous  he  had  his  faults.  One  night  Jim  and  a  passle 


ON  THE  POKER  PLAYER  175 

of  us  got  together  in  the  back  room  of  old  Hinkley's  store. 
Jim  said  he  couldn't  stay  long,  but  would  play  a  few  hands. 
He  had  threes  beaten  the  first  hand  and  then  he  took  off  his 
overcoat.  It  was  a  rainin'  and  now  and  then  there  was  a 
rumble  of  thunder.  I  can  recollect  it  better  than  if  it 
were  last  night.  A  raftsman  named  Patterson  opened  a 
pot  on  trays  and  sevens.  Jim — your  daddy — had  three 
aces  and  raised  him.  Everyone  else  dropped  out.  Pat 
terson  began  to  study.  'Have  you  got  that  sort  of  a 
hand?'  he  asked,  and  Jim  just  simply  pointed  to  his 
money  in  the  pot.  'Well,  I  don't  know/  said  Patterson. 
'  Every  time  I  poke  my  nose  in  somebody  raises  me,  and  I 
don't  believe  they  can  have  'em  all  the  time.  Hanged  if  I 
know  where  they  get  'em.  Well,  I  reckon  I'm  beaten,  but 
I'll  stand  the  raise — just  this  once." 

"He  put  in  ten  dollars  and  drew  one  card.  Jim  said 
that  he'd  draw  down  to  'em  and  took  two  cards.  Patter 
son  bet  a  chip  without  lookin'  and  Jim  raised  him  twenty 
dollars.  'Is  it  that  bad  ?'  said  Patterson,  slowly  skinnin'  his 
cards.  Then  his  fingers  slid  down  over  his  stack  of  chips. 
'  I'll  tap  you,'  he  said.  Jim  had  about  fifteen  dollars  more. 
'Well/  he  said,  'you've  got  it  or  you  haven't.'  'Either 
one  or  the  other/  replied  Patterson.  'I'll  call  you/  said 
Jim,  and  he  put  in  what  money  he  had.  Patterson 
showed  down  a  seven  full.  'That  breaks  me/  said  Jim. 
He  was  just  about  to  get  up  from  the  table  when  someone 
remarked,  'You've  got  some  money  in  the  bank,  haven't 
you?'  'Mighty  little/  replied  Jim.  'I've  got  about  fifty 
dollars  all  told.  Will  you  cash  a  check  for  me?'  The 


176  OLD  LTM  JUCKLIN 

feller  cashed  it  and  the  game  went  on.  Putty  soon  a 
hoss  stopped  in  front  of  the  store.  Someone  hollered 
and  Hinkley  went  to  the  door.  When  he  came  back  he 
said :  *  Jim,  here's  a  nigger  boy  come  after  you.  He  says 
your  wife  is  sick/  ' It's  not  unexpected/  said  Jim.  'Tell 
the  boy  to  leave  the  hoss  and  go  on  home  through  the 
woods,  and  say  I'll  be  there  right  away.  Mebby  I'll  be 
there  before  him.'  So  the  game  went  on.  Every  few 
minutes  Jim  would  say,  'Well,  I've  got  to  quit  after  the 
next  hand,'  but  he  kept  on  playin*.  In  poker,  you  know, 
it's  hard  to  get  up  to  the  next  hand.  You  are  always  on  the 
edge  of  the  future,  but  the  future  itself  doesn't  come  till 
the  game  breaks  up  and  then  all  is  in  the  past.  After  a 
while  Jim  won  a  pot  or  two.  He  said  that  his  wife  was  in 
good  hands.  We  knew  this  was  a  fact  and  we  didn't  urge 
him  to  go.  At  about  one  o'clock  he  was  within  four 
dollars  of  even.  He  looked  at  his  stack  and  said  it  was 
a  godsend.  Gamblers  talk  about  the  infinite,  you  know. 
They  are  profane,  weak  and  superstitious — and  they  are 
so  lackin'  in  reverence  as  to  attribute  good  luck  to  the 
highest  of  all  sources.  Well,  after  a  while,  when  the  win 
ners  were  tired  and  ready  to  quit  and  the  losers  resentful, 
Jim  opened  a  pot  on  queens  and  sixes.  Hinkley  stayed 
and  drew  three  cards.  Jim  drew  one  of  course — and 
caught  a  queen.  This  was  his  chance  to  cash  in  winner. 
He  bet  five  dollars  and  Hinkley  raised  him  ten.  He  raised 
Hinkley  twenty-five  and  Hinkley  tapped  him  for  all  he 
had.  Jim  knew  he  was  beaten,  but  after  shifting  about 
said  he  had  to  call  out  of  respect  for  his  hand.  He  put  in 


ON  THE  POKER  PLAYER  177 

all  the  money  he  had  and  old  Hinkley  spread  an  ace  full. 
I  recollect  that  night,  Harvey,  and  Jim  never  forgot  it. 
He  started  on  home — and  news  met  him  about  half  way. 
You  were  alive,  but  your  mother  was  dead.  It  was  the 
night  you  were  born,  Harvey.  Yes,  but  I  said  I  would  let 
you  have  ten  dollars.  Here  it  is." 

"No,  Uncle  Lim,"  the  young  fellow  replied.  "I  don't 
want  it.  I  won't  play  again — you  have  saved  me." 

"I  hope  so,  Harvey.  And  whenever  you  feel  disposed 
to  play  just  picture  that  little  country  store  and  that  hoss 
a  comin'  through  the  darkness.  Don't  let  anything  make 
you  forget  it." 


CHAPTER  XXX 
THE  HORSE  DOCTOR 

THE  sunshine  had  brought  out  the  butterflies.  They 
seemed  as  bits  of  the  golden  day,  fluttering  low  above  the 
earth.  The  weather  had  been  cold  and  stormy.  On  the 
hillsides  the  calves  had  moaned  for  spring  and  out  in  the 
woods  the  hogs  had  rooted  up  the  cold  earth,  looking  for  a 
warm  bed;  but  now  the  sun  had  come  back  again,  and  the 
violet,  timid  lest  the  frost  might  bite  at  it,  peeped  blue 
eyed  from  behind  a  brown  leaf  lodged  against  a  bush. 
They  were  sitting  in  front  of  the  wagon-maker's  shop,  the 
wise  men  of  the  neighbourhood.  They  had  told  their  old 
jokes.  They  had  laughed  at  the  things  that  happened  in 
their  boyhood.  And  now  they  must  depend  upon  imme 
diate  observation. 

"  Yander  goes  somebody  a  ridin'  over  the  county  road," 
said  old  man  Carter,  wagon  maker,  coffin  maker,  and 
buryer  of  the  dead.  "I  believe  it's  Dock  Miller." 

Every  man  got  up,  looked  and  sat  down  again.  They 
all  of  them  agreed  that  it  was  Dock  Miller.  Moreover, 
they  knew  that  there  was  distress  on  someone's  farm,  for 
Miller  was  a  hoss  doctor.  A  hoss  doctor  expects  to  be 
called  "dock."  But  the  "folks"  doctor  resents  it  as  a  dis 
respectful  familiarity.  He  has  more  of  education,  per- 

178 


THE  HORSE  DOCTOR  179 

haps,  than  the  hoss  doctor,  but  he  is  not  expected  to 
possess  so  much  of  native  shrewdness.  Therefore,  what 
he  may  chance  to  remark  upon  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life 
does  not  carry  the  hoss-doctor  weight. 

"  Jucklin,"  said  Brizintine,  "Dock  Miller  makes  a  good 
deal  of  money,  don't  he  ?" 

"Don't  know  as  to  that,"  Limuel  replied.  "But  I 
believe  that  a  man  is  quicker  to  pay  a  hoss-doctor  bill 
than  a  folks-doctor  bill.  I  don't  know  why,  it  is  true,  but 
true  it  is.  Now  there  was  old  Dabney  Stillman.  The 
family  doctor  used  to  sue  him  about  every  two  years  and 
then  had  to  compromise  on  corn  and  fodder.  But  he 
always  paid  his  hoss-doctor  bills.  Had  no  children — jest 
a  wife — and  as  women  were  rather  plentiful  and  bosses 
scarce  out  his  way,  why  I  reckon  he  thought  he  could  get 
a  wife  cheaper  than  a  hoss.  Shakespeare  said  put  not 
your  faith  in  a  boss's  health;  and  I  reckon  this  principle 
must  be  sorter  inherent  in  human  nature,  for  no  man  can 
count  on  how  long  his  hoss  is  goin'  to  be  with  him.  Can't 
tell  as  to  a  human  bein's  health,  either;  but  somehow  the 
average  farmer  ain't  so  much  concerned  in  him.  We  pray 
for  the  recovery  of  our  friends,  but  a  man  looks  foolish  if 
he's  caught  prayin'  for  a  hoss  to  get  well.  That  brings  up 
Buck  Goodall.  I  was  a  passin'  along  through  his  woods 
one  day  and  I  heard  him  a  talkin'  in  a  mumblin'  sort  of 
way,  and  I  didn't  quite  gather  what  he  was  about  until  it 
broke  upon  me  that  he  was  a-talkin'  to  the  Lord.  I  sat 
down  on  a  stump  and  waited  for  him  to  get  through,  as  I 
had  a  little  business  with  him.  And  putty  soon  I  dis- 


180  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

covered  that  he  was  a  prayin'  for  his  old  gray  mare  to  get 
well.  I  snickered  like,  and  Buck  he  jumped  up  and 
turned  on  me.  'Look  here/  says  I,  'ain't  a  man  got  a 
right  to  sneeze  ?'  But  I  couldn't  put  it  off  that  way.  He 
swore  that  I  had  sneaked  up  there  to  listen  and  to  make 
fun  of  him;  and  I  wish  I  may  die  dead  if  I  didn't  have  to 
knock  him  down  to  make  him  understand  that  I  didn't 
mean  any  harm.  Hoss  doctors  are  queer  characters,"  he 
added,  dismissing  Buck  from  his  mind. 

"They  don't  always  tell  the  truth,"  remarked  the  wagon 
maker. 

"Well,"  Lim  replied,  "they  don't  always  know  the 
truth.  They  are  not  real  hoss  lovers,  you  know.  They 
don't  look  for  perfections  but  for  ills.  When  we  see  a 
hoss  a  comin'  we  look  for  his  graces,  the  way  he  carries  his 
head,  his  manner  of  puttin'  down  his  feet;  but  the  hoss 
doctor  is  searchin'  for  disease.  His  art  lies  in  distemper. 
If  he  cares  for  his  profession  he  must  think  more  of  disease 
than  of  health.  One  argues  his  uselessness  and  the  other 
makes  him  necessary.  And  after  a  while  he  looks  at  the 
whole  world  as  if  it  were  a  sick  hoss.  The  day  is  never 
perfect.  It's  got  a  blind  tooth.  All  nature  has  the  glan 
ders.  The  folks  doctor  is  more  or  less  compelled  to  be 
good  humoured  and  inclined  to  joke,  for  a  part  of  his  skill 
is  thus  exerted  and  expressed.  But  a  hoss  doctor  may 
joke  all  he  pleases  with  the  master  and  it  won't  help  the 
hoss.  He's  got  to  get  right  down  to  cold  facts,  and  cold 
facts  rarely  warm  up  with  good  humour.  With  all  of  his 
usefulness  the  hoss  doesn't  express  very  much.  He  takes 


THE  HORSE  DOCTOR  181 

the  world  putty  much  as  he  finds  it.  He  never  laughs  as 
a  dog  does.  That's  the  reason  he  doesn't  live  long  for  his 
size.  You  can't  exactly  tell  whether  he's  glad  to  see  you 
or  wants  to  kick  you.  And  sometimes  when  you  have 
been  kind  to  him  ten  years  he  reaches  around  and  bites  a 
piece  out  of  your  arm.  I  don't  know  of  a  thing  that  I 
wouldn't  rather  be  bitten  by  than  a  hoss,  unless  it's  a  hog. 
A  hoss  has  a  vicious  twist  to  his  bite.  He  bites  as  if  he 
never  expects  another  opportunity.  He  doesn't  give  out 
any  sign  that  he's  goin'  to  bite,  either.  He  stands,  slowly 
winkin'  his  eyes — shuts  them,  opens  them,  and  bites.  A 
mule  bites  putty  bad,  but  he's  quicker  than  a  horse  and  it's 
sooner  over  with.  And  again,  you  don't  mind  killin'  a 
mule  as  much  as  you  do  a  hoss.  It  is  not  unusual  for  the 
bite  of  a  hoss  to  change  a  man's  disposition  for  life. 
Mebby  that's  the  reason  the  average  hoss  doctor  is  so 
melancholy.  It  is  no  easy  matter  to  give  a  hoss  medicine, 
either.  And  when  he's  sick  nothin'  is  sicker.  From  him 
comes  the  expression,  'as  sick  as  a  hoss.'  Nothin'  can 
look  more  woebegone,  unless  it's  a  sheep.  We  carry  about 
with  us  the  reflection  of  our  occupation." 

"I  don't  know  as  to  that,"  spoke  up  the  coffin  maker 
and  the  buryer  of  the  dead.  "Nobody  can  say  that  I'm 
not  good  humoured." 

"Yes,"  replied  Lim,  "you  are  good  humoured,  for  it  is 
a  reaction.  Your  sadness  has  been  forced  upon  you  for 
the  sake  of  appearances.  Your  job  is  melancholy,  but  it 
is  a  job  and  you  get  paid  for  it,  and  it  is  not  in  human 
nature  that  a  man  should  feel  very  sad  over  his  success  in 


182  OLD  LIM   JUCKLIN 

business.  When  you  get  through  your  good  humour 
rises,  of  course.  No  such  reaction  comes  to  the  hoss 
doctor.  He  can't  very  well  laugh  at  the  hoss.  The 
owner  would  resent  it.  He  must  show  no  pleasure  what 
ever.  But  he  must  hold  out  hope  as  long  as  he  can.  He 
says  that  he  will  call  again  the  next  day,  and  when  he 
comes  it  is  not  a  surprise  to  find  the  hoss  dead.  A  hoss 
doesn't  mince  matters  when  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  die. 
In  this  regard  he  does  not  respect  the  skill  of  the  best 
hoss  doctor  in  the  world.  And  when  the  hoss  has 
died  you  can't  look  upon  the  dock's  comin'  with  any 
pronounced  degree  of  welcome.  Oh,  yes,  the  hoss  doctor 
is  a  useful  member  of  society,  but  I  don't  envy  him. 
Whenever  he  starts  out  to  swop  bosses  the  regular  hoss 
trader  cheats  him.  He  could  beat  the  trader  swappin' 
diseases,  but  the  trader  knows  more  of  hoss  nature.  He 
looks  for  the  spirit  of  the  animal.  The  hoss  doctor  is  a 
materialist.  Nearly  all  folks  doctors  are  more  or  less 
that  way.  There  ain't  many  of  them  that  set  great  store 
on  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  The  study  of  anatomy 
has  taught  them  to  say,  'show  me.'  But  whenever  you 
find  one  that  does  believe  in  the  soul  he  is  the  best.  He 
knows  that  many  of  the  diseases  lie  almost  wholly  in  the 
mind,  and  I  take  it  that  the  soul  and  the  mind  are  closer 
kin  than  brothers-in-law.  I  had  a  sick  hoss  once  and 
sent  for  a  dock  that  lived  over  the  other  side  of  the  ridge. 
Well,  he  bled  him  and  loosened  the  hide  on  both  of  his 
shoulders,  and  poured  a  gallon  or  so  of  salt  water  into  his 
nostrils  and  told  me  that  if  he  wa'n't  any  better  the  next 


THE  HORSE  DOCTOR  183 

mornin'  to  let  him  know.  About  two  months  afterward 
I  met  him  in  town  one  day,  and  he  says,  'Hello,  is  that 
the  hoss  I  doctored?'  'No,'  I  replied,  'this  is  his  half 
brother.'  ' The  other  one  is  all  right,  I  suppose  ? '  '  Well, 
he  was  the  last  time  I  saw  him/  said  I.  'He  was  lyin' 
over  on  the  hillside.'  '  Why,  I  told  you  to  let  me  know  in 
case  he  didn't  get  any  better.'  'Yes,  but  he  was  better 
until  about  the  time  he  was  dead,  and  then  I  didn't  think  it 
necessary  to  tell  you.'  Then  he  presented  his  bill,  and  I 
believe  he  made  it  bigger  out  of  resentment  against  the 
fact  that  the  hoss  died.  Yes,  takin'  it  all  in  all,  I  don't 
know  of  a  sadder  man  than  the  average  hoss  doctor.  The 
expression  of  'hoss  laugh'  doesn't  come  from  him." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
"TANNHAUSER" 

A  SPRING  freshet  and  the  washing  away  of  a  railroad 
bridge  poured  out  an  opera  company  upon  the  country 
town.  Soon  was  spread  about  the  news  that  the  manager 
was  going  to  give  a  performance  of  "Tannhauser."  There 
was  great  excitement.  No  town  of  this  size  had  ever  been 
so  distinguished.  Surely  the  rain  had  come  as  a  favour  of 
the  gods  to  the  village  of  Purdy.  And  how  fondly  the 
community  loved  music!  It  could  boast  of  many  of  the 
most  active  and  tireless  fiddlers  in  the  state.  Its  singing 
societies  were  numerous,  and  it  was  not  unusual  to  find 
a  lad  of  fifteen  that  had  mastered  the  entire  system  of 
"buckwheat"  notes.  At  church  it  was  given  out  that 
the  opera  was  to  be  enacted  and  sung  on  the  following 
Tuesday  night.  Torn  Balch,  president  of  the  North 
Run  Harmony  Club,  rode  about  the  neighbourhood 
selling  tickets.  So  great  was  the  interest  of  the  housewife 
that  in  several  instances  eggs  were  exchanged  for  paste 
board.  Ah,  at  last  the  people  were  to  be  enlivened  and 
elevated  by  that  great  harmony  so  often  spoken  of  in  the 
newspapers.  Old  Brizintine  bought  a  ticket.  He  swore 
that  there  was  not  a  man  in  the  neighbourhood  that  could 
catch  a  tune  quicker  than  he.  He  never  went  to  a  revival 

184 


"TANNHAUSER"  185 

that  he  didn't  come  away  whistling  a  hymn.  Once  a 
flatboat  concert  company  had  tied  up  at  a  landing  on  his 
farm.  He  had  not  charged  the  company  for  the  use  of 
his  land.  He  was  more  than  paid  in  music.  One  of  the 
company  could  sing  high  or  low,  just  as  the  case  might 
be;  and  his  imitation  of  a  foxhound  beat  anything  ever 
heard  in  that  part  of  the  country.  Dan  Mahoney  had 
heard  it  five  miles  away,  and  old  Steve  Hortner,  two 
miles  distant,  had  run  to  his  door  in  the  hope  that  he 
might  see  the  fox.  "And  I  reckon  this  company's  got 
one  to  beat  him  all  hollow,"  said  Brizintine. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  the  postmaster.  "Here  comes 
old  Limuel.  Maybe  he  can  tell  us  somethin'  about  it." 

Jucklin  came  up,  took  a  seat  on  the  horse  block,  democ 
racy's  common  throne,  told  a  boy  to  look  out  or  he  might 
hurt  himself  running  along  and  shoving  a  stick  in  front 
of  him,  and  then  inquired  of  Brizintine  if  he  were  going 
to  the  opera. 

"Me?  Well,  I've  got  my  credentials  right  here,"  Briz 
answered.  "  Couldn't  keep  me  away  with  a  ten-foot  pole. 
And  as  soon  as  I  hearn  that  they  were  goin'  to  give  us  a 
chance  to  taste  their  fruit  I  says  to  my  wife,  says  I, 
'Emerline,  that  means  me.  I  haven't  paid  much  atten 
tion  to  these  circuses,  and  I  stayed  home  one  night  and 
shelled  a  turn  of  corn  rather  than  go  to  the  minstrels;  but 
when  they  come  with  the  grand  opery  that  means  me.' 
That's  what  I  said  to  her." 

"Is  your  wife  a  goin'  with  you  ?"  Lim  inquired. 

"Well,  no,  she  'lowed  she'd  take  her  money  and  buy 


186  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

a  new  pair  of  quiltin'  frames.  She's  a  smart  woman, 
Lim,  but  she  don't  care  particular  for  music.  I  used  to 
blow  a  flute  before  I  lost  so  many  of  my  teeth,  and  she 
always  told  me  I'd  better  be  a  plowin'.  It  fretted  me  at 
first,  but  we  can't  all  be  artistic.  You  like  music,  don't 
you,  Lim?" 

"I  lick  it  up  the  same  as  molasses.  Music  is  the  syrup 
of  the  mind.  It  is  energy  gone  to  sleep,  a  dreamin'.  If 
the  soul  is  like  a  rose  music  is  the  perfume." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Lim,"  Briz  replied. 
"Me  and  you  don't  always  agree,  but  when  it  comes  to 
the  great  principles  we  stand  putty  much  on  the  same  plat 
form.  Now  some  folks  ain't  educated  up  to  high  music. 
But  it  don't  make  no  difference  to  me  how  high  they  sing; 
I  can  stand  on  tiptoe  and  reach  the  notes.  I'll  drap  by 
for  you,  and  we'll  go  together." 

Never  in  an  expectant  neighbourhood  did  time  move 
slower.  But  Tuesday  dawned  and  night  finally  spread 
over  the  earth.  Old  Lim  and  Briz  were  in  front  of  the 
hall  door  an  hour  and  a  half  before  it  was  opened.  Mrs. 
Jucklin  had  refused  to  come.  "I  have  hearn  about  them 
ballets  and  that  high  kickin',  and  such  carryin's  on  don't 
mix  well  with  the  church,"  she  had  said.  "If  Limuel 
wants  to  forget  that  life's  serious,  let  him.  I'll  have  none 
of  it." 

When  the  door  was  opened  the  narrow  stairway  was 
instantly  jammed.  Every  seat  in  the  house  was  taken. 
In  the  aisle  a  rocking  chair  was  placed  for  the  county 
judge.  When  everyone  had  been  seated  he,  this  ever- 


"TANNHAUSER"  187 

playing  fountain  of  wisdom,  arose  and  declared  that  lie 
desired  to  say  something.  "We  are  assembled  for  a 
purpose,"  said  he.  This  sage  remark  evoked  not  a  mur 
mur.  "We  are  here,"  said  he,  "not  to  honour,  but  to  be 
honoured.  The  opera  we  are  to  see  and  hear  to-night 
will,  I  have  no  doubt,  soon  establish  itself  as  a  favourite  in 
our  midst.  It  comes  to  us  as  a  reward  for  our  love  of 
music,  and  soon  our  young  ladies  will  be  playing  it  on  their 
melodians.  I  move  three  cheers  for  these  singers." 

Three  cheers  were  given,  and  then  the  curtain  arose. 
There  was  no  orchestra.  Sam  Buck,  fiddler,  had  offered 
his  services.  But  as  he  couldn't  play  by  note,  and  as  he 
had  never  heard  the  tunes,  his  offer  was  passed  up. 

"Now  I  begin  to  feel  that  life's  worth  the  livin'," 
Brizintine  whispered  to  Jucklin. 

"I  need  a  little  more  evidence  yet,"  Limuel  replied. 
The  county  judge  sat  for  a  time  with  one  hand  behind 
his  ear,  to  harvest  and  garner  the  sound,  but  soon  dis 
covered  that  this  was  unnecessary.  Then  came  a  noise, 
as  if  someone  had  struck  a  circular  saw  with  a  sledge. 

"They  seem  to  be  rebuildin'  that  railroad  bridge," 
said  Jucklin. 

Brizintine  winced.  "I'd  like  to  tell  'em  we  ain't  deef," 
he  replied. 

Uproarous  time  went  on.  The  people  looked  at  one 
another.  "And  I  gave  up  a  settin'  of  eggs  for  this,"  an 
old  woman  whispered. 

"Briz,"  remarked  Lim,  "if  you  find  the  tune  pass  it  over 
to  me." 


188  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"Oh,  they'll  git  to  it  after  a  while,"  Briz  replied.  "That 
feller  there  in  that  auctioneer  suit  come  in  one  of  hittin* 
it  then." 

Old  Limuel  scratched  his  head.  "There  ain't 
a  child  that  can  sleep  in  this  town  to-night  while 
this  is  a  goin'  on,"  said  he.  "Why,  confound  it, 
they  are  makin'  fun  of  us.  I  can't  understand  a  word 
they  say." 

"Of  course  not,"  interposed  the  barber,  sitting  behind 
him.  "They  are  singing  in  German." 

"Well,  what  right  have  they  got  to  do  that?"  Briz 
demanded.  "I  move  we  make  'em  sing  it  out  plain  or 
hush  up.  We  don't  know  but  they  are  talkin'  about  us. 
Jest  listen  at  that  feller  whoop  and  bawl.  I've  got  a  steer 
that  I  could  match  against  him." 

An  hour  passed.  Another  act  began.  Briz  arose. 
"Where  are  you  goin'  ?"  Limuel  asked  of  him. 

"Thought  I'd  go  around  to  the  livery  stable  to  curry 
my  horse." 

"Don't  need  curryin',  does  he?" 

"No,  but  I'd  ruther  do  it  than  to  stay  here." 

"Believe  I'll  go  with  you.  I  don't  want  to  curry  a 
horse,  but  as  I  want  music  I  may  find  a  cow  somewhere 
that  has  lost  her  calf.  I  want  her  lowin'  to  take  this  taste 
out  of  my  ears." 

They  went  out.  On  the  sidewalk  there  were  a  number 
of  boys,  eager  for  a  peep  at  the  show.  "Is  it  a  good 
show,  Uncle  Lim  ?"  one  of  them  inquired. 

"I  won't  say  as  to  that,  boys.     But  I  will  say  that  not- 


"TANNHAUSER"  189 

withstandin'  the  fact  that  the  railroad  killed  my  colt  I'm 
sorry  their  bridge  washed  away." 

The  two  old  men  went  over  into  the  courthouse  yard 
and  sat  down.  "First  night's  work  I've  done  in  a  long 
time,"  said  Briz.  "  Lim,  is  that  what  they  call  music  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  don't  come  when  they  have  called  it.  It 
jest  confirms  a  belief  that  I've  always  had,  Briz — that 
the  public  is  a  liar.  Whenever  music  tries  to  tell  a  story, 
except  the  sweet  or  sorrowful  story  of  the  heart,  it  has 
missed  its  office.  And  if  what  we  heard  to-night  is  edu 
cation  let  me  take  ignorance  in  my  arms  and  kiss  its  warm 
lips.  I  like  to  hear  a  thunderstorm,  for  that  tells  the  story 
of  the  angry  clouds.  I  don't  dislike  to  hear  cats  a  fightin' 
out  in  the  dark — I  can  stand  a  yard  full  of  guinea  hens — 
but  I  don't  want  any  more  music  that  they  call  educated- 
They  might  as  well  call  rheumatism  an  enlightened 
emotion.  Tuther  day  a  feller  out  in  the  river  a  swimmin' 
was  taken  with  the  cramp,  and  he  hollered.  They 
ought  to  get  him  to  sing  in  this  opery.  Well,  Briz,  I 
reckon  we'd  better  sneak  on  home." 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  tell  your  wife,  Lim?" 

"Why,  when  she  asks  me  what  it  was  like,  I'll  go  out 
into  the  kitchen  and  knock  down  the  dishpans." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
THE  RAINY  DAY 

SINCE  dawn  the  clouds  had  been  gathering,  and  it  was 
still  early  when  there  set  in  an  all-day's  rain.  Man  and 
beast  turned  toward  shelter,  and  the  muffled  bird  sat  on 
the  limb,  close  against  the  protecting  body  of  the  tree. 
Along  the  road  the  traveller  had  no  need  to  urge  his  willing 
horse,  for  onward  the  animal  splashed,  eager  to  reach  a 
dry  place,  protected  from  the  surly  clouds,  where  with 
eyes  shut  he  might  stand,  to  dream.  It  was  on  a  Saturday. 
Toward  this  day  of  promise,  of  happiness  in  the  free  woods 
along  the  creek,  the  children  had  fondly  looked;  but  now 
bright  hope  had  been  drenched  with  water  and  bedraggled. 
The  door  of  the  old  log  schoolhouse  had  never  known 
a  lock.  The  leather  latchstring  hung  without,  jewel- 
tipped  with  a  drop  of  water.  Within  the  hated  books  lay 
scattered  about,  things  of  loathing  now,  but  in  years  to 
come,  in  the  drizzling  days  of  murky  age,  to  be  looked 
back  upon  as  angel  wings  that  sweetly  fanned  the  perfumed 
hours  away.  With  finger  dipped  in  ink  a  grammar-hating 
boy  had  written  on  the  wall  his  name — destined  perhaps 
in  future  years  to  give  authority  to  many  a  document  of 
State. 

Several  men,  coming  from  different  directions,  ap- 

190 


THE  RAINY  DAY  191 

preached  the  house,  hastening  to  get  under  cover;  and 
soon  within  there  were  gathered  old  Limuel  and  some  of 
his  friends.  "About  as  moist  a  day  as  I've  seen  in  some 
time,"  said  he,  spreading  his  dripping  shawl  on  the  back 
of  a  bench. 

"And  it's  goin'  to  interfere  with  spring  plowin',"  Briz- 
intine  replied,  sitting  down  with  a  sigh. 

"That  sigh,  Briz,  comes  from  the  fact  that  you  ain't 
a  doin'  of  the  plowin'  yourself,"  said  Lim. 

"Why,  what  difference  does  that  make,  Lim?" 

"  A  good  deal,  I  tell  you.  The  man  that  does  the  plowin' 
isn't  likely  to  sigh  over  the  fact  that  rain  drives  him  to  the 
house  for  a  few  hours'  rest." 

"I'm  not  that  lazy,"  Briz  replied. 

"Oh,  no,  you  ain't  lazy  at  all;  but  lots  of  men  that  are 
not  lazy  are  willin'  enough  to  see  it  rain,  when  we  don't 
particularly  need  the  moisture,  if  it  gives  them  an  oppor 
tunity  to  sit  down.  Now  the  only  real  enjoyment  that  a 
person  has  in  this  life  is  in  thinkin'.  Pleasure  is  in  the 
mind,  you  know;  and  with  the  rain  there  comes  a  certain 
atmospheric  condition  that  somehow  fetches  a  man  closer 
up  to  his  mind.  Thought  is  more  creative  on  a  rainy 
day.  Great  poetry  don't  come  out  of  the  sunshine,  but 
out  of  the  mist  and  the  rain." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  spoke  up  a  fellow 
named  Talbert.  "There  was  Jim  Horn  Pike  that  lived 
down  in  my  neighbourhood.  He  set  right  out  on  the 
railin'  of  the  bridge,  in  the  sunshine,  and  writ  poetry  about 
the  fight  they  had  over  at  the  dance  at  Tarver's,  and  he 


192  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

found  a  word  to  rhyme  with  every  name,  too.  'Squire 
Goodall  said  it  was  about  as  good  poetry  as  he  had  read 
that  spring,  and  the  'Squire  is  a  scholar — saw  him  add 
up  two  columns  of  figgers  at  once." 

Old  Limuel  smiled.  "  Poetry  is  mystery  and  there 
isn't  any  mystery  in  sunshine,"  said  he.  "The  cradle 
song  is  the  sweetest  and  most  appealin'  because  it  is  sung 
in  the  night  when  there  is  mystery  away  out  on  the  hill 
side  and  along  the  creek.  A  rainy  day  is  the  time  of  man's 
greatest  creation.  It  is  theft  that  the  doors  of  his  mind 
are  open — when  he  is  most  willin'  to  receive  as  guests  the 
ideas  that  are  wanderin'  about  in  the  air.  And  did  you 
ever  notice  that  nearly  all  folks  are  of  the  same  age  when 
they  sit  a  listenin'  to  the  rain?" 

"I  haven't  made  any  such — such  noticement  as  that," 
said  Briz. 

"I  reckon  not,"  Lim  replied.  "But  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  truths  of  the  soul  have  escaped  the  notice  of  a 
good  many  men.  When  the  strings  on  the  fiddle  are  in 
tune  they  are  all  of  an  age,  until  one  of  them  breaks.  A 
rainy  day  seems  to  tune  the  strings  of  this  life;  and  the 
boy  and  the  old  man — listenin'  to  the  patter  and  the  drip, 
breathin'  the  softened  breath  that  comes  from  the  woods, 
from  the  undiscovered  caves,  from  the  nooks  where  the 
birds  live — the  boy  and  the  man  in  their  meditative  silence 
are  of  the  same  age.  The  mind  turns  backward,  and  the 
mind  that  can  go  back  no  farther  than  a  few  years  seems 
just  as  old  as  the  mind  that  flies  back  over  half  a  century. 
That's  the  way  it  seems,  you  understand,  and  although  we 


THE  RAINY  DAY  193 

are  told  that  things  are  not  what  they  seem,  yet  the  thing 
that  seems  is  an  illustration  of  the  truth,  the  spiritualism' 
of  a  fact — nobler  sometimes  than  the  bare  truth,  for  it 
gives  scope  and  speculation  to  the  fancy.  Look  at  each 
one  of  you  now,  in  a  dream,  caused  by  the  clouds,  the 
soothin'  patter  of  the  water.  Life  they  say  is  a  dream; 
and  the  rainy  day  is  the  dream  of  the  dream.  It  is  Nature 
playin*  music  for  herself." 

"  Brings  on  aches  and  pains,"  said  Briz. 

"The  aches  and  pains  come  just  before  the  rain,"  Lim 
replied.  "And  the  rain  comes  to  cure  them.  Briz,  I 
don't  see  how  it  is  that  you  can  work  up  enough  imagina 
tion  to  worship  the  Lord.  You  are  about  as  matter-of- 
fact  a  cuss  as  I  ever  saw.  Do  you  ever  dream  when  you're 
asleep?" 

"Yes,  dreamed  tuther  night  and  I  woke  up  a  hollerin' 
and  wife  she  yelled  at  me.  I  dreamed  that  I  was  snake 
bit;  and  there's  somethin'  in  dreams,  too,  I  tell  you,  for 
the  very  next  day  a  snake  struck  at  me.  Don't  you 
believe  there's  somethin'  in  dreams,  Lim  ?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Now  there  was  Tab  Moseley.  One  evenin' 
about  sundown  his  well  caved  in,  and  it  worried  him 
mightily,  for  lie  hated  to  clean  out  a  well  worse  than  any 
man  you  ever  saw.  He  went  to  bed  early  to  get  it  off  his 
mind,  and  some  time  after  he  dropped  off  to  sleep  his  wife 
heard  him  a  groanin'.  But  she  didn't  pay  any  attention 
to  him.  She  was  mad  at  him  in  advance,  for  she  knew  he 
was  goin'  to  neglect  the  well.  In  the  mornin'  she  had  to 
call  Tab  three  or  four  times  before  he'd  get  up  to  breakfast, 


194  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

and  when  he  came  he  stretched  and  groaned  and  com 
plained  of  bein'  tired.  But  she  didn't  pity  him  any,  for  she 
knew  it  was  an  excuse  to  git  out  of  the  work  that  stared  him 
in  the  face  that  day.  She  asked  him  if  he  was  a  goin'  to 
clean  out  the  well,  and  he  hemmed  and  hawed  and  said 
that  he  didn't  feel  able.  She  lit  into  him  and  told  him  he 
wa'n't  any  account.  And  he  said,  'All  right,  I'll  acknowl 
edge  it  if  you  want  me  to,  but  I'll  be  blowed  if  I'm  goin' 
to  fool  with  that  infernal  well  to-day. '  They  quarrelled 
and  snapped  at  each  other  for  some  time  and  finally  went 
out  toward  the  well,  still  a  quarrellin';  and  then  they 
looked  at  each  other  in  silent  astonishment,  for  there  was 
the  well  cleaned  out  and  the  stones  all  put  up  in  the  right 
place.  'Well,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  didn't  dream  that  I 
worked  at  this  thing  all  night/  said  Tab;  and  his  wife  she 
tittered  and  'lowed, '  You  got  up  in  your  sleep  and  went  to 
work  at  it,  and  knowin'  that  you  never  would  do  it  except 
in  your  dreams  I  just  let  you  dream  on.'  And  ever  after 
that,  when  she  wanted  anything  done  about  the  house, 
she'd  call  out  to  Tab,  'Come,  now,  get  a  dream  on  you.' 
Yes,  Briz,  there's  a  good  deal  in  dreams — in  rainy-day 
dreams.  Who  knows  but  that  the  greatest  progress  of  the 
world  can  be  traced  to  the  rainy  days?  One  hour  of 
thought  can  lay  out  enough  to  keep  a  thousand  hours  busy 
with  action.  The  rainy  day  is  the  architect  of  the  buildin's 
that  go  up  in  the  sunshine.  And  I  want  to  say  this  to 
you  young  fellers:  If  the  girl  you  go  to  see  loves  the 
rainy  day  she  has  soul  and  is  to  be  tied  to.  If  she  hates 
the  rain  it  is  because  her  mind  is  set  on  gaddin'  about,  and 


THE  RAINY  DAY  195 

therefore  beware  of  her.  Companions  in  rain — com 
panions  everywhere.  Make  it  a  point  to  do  your  courtin' 
durin'  rainy  weather.  After  all  it  is  the  soul  that  makes 
things  bright,  and  there  is  nothin'  so  beautiful  as  a  light 
heart  shinin'  through  the  gloom.  What  are  you  dreamin' 
about,  Briz?" 

"Why,  I  was  a  thinkin'  about  that  feller  that  worked 
in  his  sleep.  I  would  like  to  have  him  learn  me  how  it 
comes,  for  I'd  do  all  my  work  that  way.  Well,  I  guess  I'd 
better  be  goin',  rain  or  no  rain.  The  chances  are  my 
wife'll  be  as  mad  as  a  wet  hen  when  I  git  home." 

"I  reckon  you  must  have  done  your  courtin'  durin'  a 
drought,"  said  old  Lim. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 
ON  FUNERALS 

"!T  is  a  putty  risky  matter  to  tell  the  exact  truth  all 
the  time,"  said  old  Limuel  to  the  young  preacher,  the  Rev. 
J.  Abner  Smithson.  They  were  sitting  in  front  of  the 
blacksmith's  shop,  beneath  a  dogwood  tree  in  bloom. 
Within  the  shop  the  smith  was  nailing  iron  on  the  hoofs 
of  the  preacher's  horse.  The  company  was  not  large, 
but  of  course  included  old  Brizintine.  Abner  J.  Smithson 
was  cultivating,  in  this  the  first  six  months  of  his  circuit 
riding,  the  propriety  of  solemn  expression.  He  had  attuned 
his  voice  to  melancholy,  had  mastered  the  necessary  sad 
ness  of  eye,  and  was  now  shaping  his  general  attitude 
toward  woebegoneness.  He  had  not  yet  reached  the 
happiness  of  the  Gospel,  that  cheerful  acceptance  of 
Galilee,  that  most  uplifting  of  all  philosophy,  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount.  "I  think  that  all  the  truth  is  due  at  all 
seasons  and  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  the  night,"  he 
replied,  casting  a  sorrowful  look  upon  old  Lim. 

"Well,  with  a  certain  amount  of  leeway,"  said  Lim. 
"When  they  asked  the  Saviour  if  he  would  pay  tribute 
to  Rome  he  could  have  said  yes  or  no,  but  he  looked  at 
the  image  on  the  coin  and  said,  *  Render  unto  Csesar  the 

196 


ON  FUNERALS  197 

things  that  are  Caesar's/  That  was  a  sort  of  leeway. 
The  most  effective  truth  can  be  told  by  an  illustration, 
and  yet  it  would  seem  like  a  dodgin'  of  the  truth.  The 
apparent  shift  brings  out  the  brightest  colours  of  the 
truth.  Now,  Abner,  suppose  you  were  called  on  to 
preach  the  funeral  of  our  old  friend,  Brizintine.  Would 
you  tell  the  truth?" 

"What  do  you  want  to  drag  me  into  it  for?"  Briz  spoke 
up.  "Do  you  always  need  me  to  fetch  out  your  p'ints?" 

"No,  not  always,"  said  Lim.  "You  ain't  particularly 
useful  in  the  illustratin'  of  a  truth,  but  you  are  generally 
close  about  and  help  us  to  fetch  things  home.  Yes,  and 
now,  Abner,  suppose  Briz  was  dead  and " 

"I  object,"  Brizintine  interposed. 

"Of  course  you  object,"  said  Limuel.  "You've  been 
objectin'  a  good  many  years,  tryin'  to  homestead  as  many 
days  as  possible,  stakin'  out  the  weeks  and  foreclosin' 
on  every  month  you  can;  but  the  time  is  a  comin'  when 
you-  -" 

"  Can't  you  talk  about  somethin'  a  leetle  more  cheerful, 
Limuel?"  Briz  insisted. 

"Oh,  this  is  cheerful  enough.  Yes,  Abner,  suppose 
Briz  was  dead  and  you  were  called  on  to  preach  his  funeral. 
Would  you  tell  the  exact  truth  about  him?" 

"I  could  find  many  good  things  to  say  in  his  behalf," 
the  youth  replied. 

"Yes,  that's  to  be  supposed.  But  would  you  tell  the 
folks  that  the  worst  beatin'  I  ever  got  in  a  hoss  swap  I  got 
from  him  ?  And  on  a  Sunday  at  that  ?  Would  you  tell 


198  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

'em  that  him  and  me  had  fit  roosters  in  a  barn  by  the  light 
of  a  tallow  candle  ?" 

The  young  preacher  sighed.  His  sigh  was  not  as  yet 
fully  developed,  but  he  was  improving.  He  sighed  and 
said:  "I  should  not  mention  such  foibles." 

"This  here  subject  is  like  a  hot  potato  and  I  wish  you'd 
drap  it,"  said  Briz. 

"What,"  Limuel  spoke  up,  "don't  you  want  to  serve 
in  the  interest  of  truth  ?  Jest  keep  quiet  a  while.  Foibles, 
eh,  Abner?  Well,  now,  life's  putty  much  made  up  of 
foibles.  That  part  of  a  human  which  is  most  human  is 
a  foible.  Of  course  Briz  don't  know  what  a  foible  is — 
he  'lows  mebby  it's  somethin'  to  eat,  but  we'll  let  that  go. 
No,  sir,  Abner,  you'd  git  up  there  and  rare  and  snort 
over  what  a  good  church  member  Briz  was,  jest  as  if 
goin'  to  church  and  acknowledgin'  that  the  preacher  had 
put  forth  a  powerful  effort  was  the  sum  total  of  life.  You'd 
say  he  loved  his  feller-man,  when  the  fact  is  he  loves  a 
hog  better — hog's  jowl  and  mustard  greens.  And  durin' 
the  time  we  would  set  there  and  agree  with  you,  knowin' 
that  we  were  all  liars.  Now  Briz  he  is  all  right — putty 
much  my  sort  of  a  man,  cusses  when  he  feels  like  it — 
and  a  man  that  don't  has  got  a  good  deal  of  the  hypercrit 
in  him;  don't  work  on  Sunday,  it's  true,  for  he  don't 
hanker  after  work  at  any  time.  Just  a  natural  sort 
of  a  man — and  yit  if  he  was  to  die  you'd  make  him 
a  saint.  There  has  been  more  lies  told  in  preachin' 
funerals  than  in  makin'  love — and  they  wa'n't  half  as 
necessary." 


ON  FUNERALS  199 

The  youth  sighed.  "All  funeral  orations  are  not  lies/' 
he  said. 

"No,  mebby  not.  And  now  I  remember  one  that  was 
the  truth.  Bill  Henly  used  to  live  down  the  river — and 
owned  nearly  all  that  country.  He  was  a  great  traveller 
and  a  smart  man.  Well,  one  day  he  went  to  a  preacher 
and  says  to  hire,  says  he:  'Parson,  do  you  think  you 
could  preach  a  truthful  funeral  sermon?'  Without  a 
moment's  thought  the  preacher  said  he  could.  'I  think 
so,  too/  replied  Henly — 'that  is,  after  I  give  you  the  points. 
And  if  you  bring  'em  out  just  as  I  give  'em  to  you,  why, 
I'll  pay  you  what  it  is  worth.  Now  listen  and  mark  me. 
Nobody  in  the  neighbourhood  knows  the  age  of  this  man 
nor  his  name.  So  far  as  we  know  he  never  told  his  age, 
never  uttered  a  lie,  never  cheated,  never  talked  about  his 
neighbours,  never  voted  the  wrong  ticket,  never  did  a 
thing  objectionable,  so  far  as  we  know.  He  is  at  my 
house.  I  have  invited  a  few  friends.  Come  over  and 
preach  his  funeral/  Well,  the  preacher  went.  A  few 
people  gathered  under  the  trees  in  the  yard.  The  coffin 
was  placed  on  two  chairs.  The  parson  stepped  forward 
and  looked  at  a  bit  of  paper  on  which  he  had  taken  down 
all  that  Henly  had  said.  Then  he  began,  and  he  stuck 
to  his  text  for  quite  a  while,  but  after  a  time  he  began  to 
wander  off.  He  towered  in  his  praise  of  the  deceased.  He 
saw  that  Henly  was  pleased  and  he  went  further.  He 
took  inspiration  from  Henly's  countenance.  He  knew 
that  this  was  some  poor  old  stranger  that  Henly  was 
buryin*  out  of  charity.  And  when  he  got  through  with 


200  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

him  Henly  shook  his  hand  and  said:  'Good — bully/ 
The  parson  was  sorter  astonished.  'Do  you  want  some- 
thin*  said  at  the  grave  ?'  he  inquired. 

"'No/  said  Henly,  'I'm  not  goin'  to  bury  him  just 
yet.  He's  cost  me  so  much  I'm  goin'  to  keep  him  a  while. 
Would  you  like  to  look  at  the  man  you  have  talked  so 
familiar  about  ? '  The  parson  'lowed  he  would,  and  Henly 
took  the  lid  off  the  box.  Inside  there  was  the  old  feller — 
an  Egyptian  mummy.  The  folks  they  tittered  and  the 
preacher  didn't  like  it.  He  said  Henly  had  fooled  him. 
'No/  said  Henly,  'I  gave  you  the  facts  and  you  fooled 
yourself/  And  Briz,"  old  Limuel  added,  "I  should 
think  the  best  way  to  preach  our  funerals  would  be  to 
wait  about  five  thousand  years  after  we  are  dead.  That 
length  of  time  seems  long  to  the  livin',  Abner,  but  to  the 
dead  it  ain't  a  minute.  And  if  Julius  Caesar  should  awake 
he'd  say,  'Oh,  no,  I  haven't  been  asleep — jest  dozed  off 
a  little.'  The  church  is  improvin'  all  the  time,  Abner; 
sends  fewer  children  to  everlastin'  torment,  but  it  hasn't 
reached  a  point  yit  when  it  can  afford  to  tell  the  truth 
at  a  funeral.  To  tell  the  truth  wouldn't  be  jest  to 
the  liars  that  are  left  livin'.  There  is  one  thing  the 
preacher  always  thinks  he  can  say  of  a  deceased 
and  tell  the  truth,  and  that  is  to  call  him  a  useful 
citizen.  And  the  fact  is,  after  he's  dead  the  neighbour 
hood  improves." 

The  youth  sighed  again.  "Ah,  Mr.  Jucklin,  since 
we  have  supposed  the  case  in  the — er  fictitious  death  of 
Mr.  Brizintine,  let  us  be  truly  absurd  and  suppose  that  you 


ON  FUNERALS  201 

were  to  preach  your  own  funeral  oration.  What  would 
you  say?" 

"He  has  got  you  now,"  laughed  Briz. 

"Not  necessarily,"  Lim  replied.  And  after  a  moment 
he  continued:  "Why,  Abner,  I'd  say  somethin'  like  this: 
'Old  Limuel  Jucklin  lies  here  before  you.  He  never 
claimed  even  to  have  shaken  hands  with  a  saint.  If  he 
didn't  do  the  best  he  could  he  tried  to  make  himself  believe 
he  did.  But  the  Lord  is  a  better  jedge  of  him  than  he 
was  of  himself.  Amen.'" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
ON  STRIKES 

IN  the  neighbourhood  there  lived  a  young  fellow  named 
Sam  Buckner,  Recently  he  went  to  the  city  to  uncover 
the  fortune  that  lay  hidden,  biding  his  time.  While  he 
was  waiting  for  the  train,  in  the  country  town,  some  of  his 
neighbours,  and  particularly  the  old  men  who  had  never 
been  away  from  home,  offered  him  advice.  All  agreed 
that  he  must  be  honest.  All  rich  men  were  honest — for  a 
long  time.  He  must  be  industrious,  for  of  itself  industry 
was  gold.  If  he  could  not  find  a  job  at  good  pay  take  one 
at  poor  pay.  It  was  better  to  work  for  nothing  than  to 
be  idle.  Sam  inquired  of  old  Limuel  if  he  had  anything 
to  offer. 

"Well,  yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "but  I'll  give  you  my 
advice  after  you  get  back  home." 

A  few  weeks  later  Sam  returned.  He  had  just  come  out 
of  a  hospital.  His  head  was  bandaged  and  he  walked 
with  a  limp.  Old  Limuel  was  among  the  neighbours 
that  called  on  him.  "The  city  didn't  appear  to  agree 
with  you,"  said  he.  "How  did  all  this  happen ?" 

The  young  man  sat  in  a  rocking  chair.  His  mother 
hovered  about  him,  urging  him  to  drink  some  sort  of  tea, 

202 


ON  STRIKES  203 

« 
made  of  herbs  gathered  in  the  garden.     Limuel  told  her 

to  sit  down  and  rest  herself.  She  sat  down  reluctantly. 
Whenever  her  intuitive  eye  saw  a  pain  coming  she  would 
start  up  to  head  it  off.  "Let  him  tell  us/'  said  Limuel. 

"Wish  the  blamed  town  was  blowed  up,"  groaned  the 
young  fellow. 

"Couldn't  you  git  work?"  Brizintine  inquired. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  got  work — you  bet  I  did.  It  was  this  way. 
Not  havin'  any  particular  trade,  you  know,  I  had  to  look 
round  a  little  after  I  got  there.  I  found  a  boardin'  house 
and  went  to  bed  early,  as  I  was  tired.  Next  mornin'  I 
went  out  to  find  work.  I  met  a  well-dressed  feller  and  he 
sorter  looked  at  me  and  then  asked  me  if  I  wanted  a  job. 
I  told  him  he  was  my  friend.  He  asked  me  if  I  could  drive 
a  wagon,  and  I  told  him  I  looked  on  a  horse  as  I  did  on 
pie  when  I  was  hungry  for  sweet  stuff.  He  said,  'follow 
me/  and  I  followed  him.  We  came  to  a  big  store  and  there 
was  a  crowd  about  it  and  I  thought  this  feller  must  be 
doin'  a  whalin'  business.  He  showed  me  the  wagon  he 
wanted  driv'.  Two  horses  were  hitched  to  it,  and  I  says 
to  'em,  'Boys,  your  master  has  arivV  One  of  the  horses 
looked  at  me  and  sorter  grinned,  I  thought.  The  other 
one  didn't  say  nothin'.  Well,  another  feller  got  on  the 
wragon  to  tell  me  where  to  go,  he  'lowed.  And  then  I  took 
up  the  lines  and  driv'  off.  I  had  heard  what  a  hard  time 
some  folk  had  struck  a  gettin'  work,  and  I  thought  it  was 
comin'  easy  for  me.  I  hadn't  asked  the  boss  what  he 
was  goin'  to  pay.  He  said  he'd  make  it  all  right  with  me, 
and  that  seemed  fair  enough.  Well,  I  hadn't  driv'  more 


204  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

than  a  hundred  yards  when  some  fellers  run  out  from 
some  place  I  didn't  know  where  and  yelled,  'scab.'  I 
says,  *  that's  all  right,  fellers,  but  I  ain't  sore.'  One  of 
'em  said  I  would  be  the  first  thing  I  knowed.  By  this 
time  the  feller  that  started  out  with  me  was  gone  and  the 
next  minute  there  came  bricks  and  pieces  of  iron.  I  said, 
'Quit  that,  you  might  hurt  somebody.'  I  was  used  to 
playin',  but  that  looked  sorter  rough  to  me.  But  they 
kept  on.  'Quit,'  I  says,  'you  might  hit  me,'  and  about 
that  time  off  of  the  wagon  I  went,  with  a  brickbat  bouncin' 
from  my  head.  Then  here  come  the  fellers.  They 
wallowed  me,  they  beat  me — and  when  I  come  to  I  was 
in  what  they  call  a  hospital.  That's  all  there  was  to  it. 
There  was  a  strike." 

"And  it  was  a  shame  to  beat  my  son,"  said  the  mother. 
"What  right  had  they  to  act  that  way?  I  should  like  to 
know  what  sort  of  mothers  they  had."  She  saw  another 
pain  coming  and  got  up  to  head  it  off  with  her  tea. 

"Set  down,  ma'am,"  said  Limuel. 

"The  good-for-nothin'  things,"  she  said,  sitting  down. 
"And  I  jest  like  to  know  if  a  man  hasn't  got  a  right  to 
work." 

"Well,  at  times,"  said  Lim.  "Of  course  nobody  had  a 
right  to  hit  Sam  with  a  brick 

"He  had  his  best  clothes  on,  too,"  the  old  woman  broke 
in.  "I  told  him  to  change  'em  as  soon  as  he  got  there." 

"  Best  clothes  don't  make  much  difference  with  men  on 
a  strike,"  said  Lim.  "The  trouble  is  with  what  we  call 
our  democracy.  We  have  invited  men  to  come  from  all 


ON  STRIKES  205 

parts  of  the  world;  we  have  called  this  land  the  home 
of  the  oppressed.  And  when  the  ignorant  furriner  gets 
here  we  tell  him  he's  free  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  and 
ask  him  how  it  feels.  He  says  it's  all  right.  Our  politi 
cians  begin  at  once  to  make  speeches  at  him.  They  tell 
him  that  he  and  liberty  are  twin  brothers.  They  talk  to 
him  along  this  line  until  he  begins  to  believe  that  law  is 
his  enemy.  Of  course  all  the  brick  throwin'  ain't  by  men 
of  furrin  birth,  but  the  furriners  appear  to  be  the  most 
violent  after  they  get  started.  You  can  reason  with  an 
American." 

"Didn't  reason  with  me,"  said  Sam.  "Didn't  ask  for 
no  argument  and  I  am  an  American." 

The  old  woman  rushed  at  him  with  a  dish  of  tea  as  black 
as  the  juice  of  a  devil  fish.  He  dodged  and  Limuel 
again  prevailed  upon  her  to  sit  down. 

"Secession  was  a  hard  thing  to  settle,"  said  Limuel, 
"but  it  was  child's  play  compared  with  the  labour  ques 
tion." 

"I  don't  see  why  it  ought  to  be  so  hard,"  Briz  spoke 
up.  "If  you  don't  want  a  man  to  work  for  you  why  all 
you've  got  to  do  is  to  tell  him  so." 

"Yes,  it  might  appear  that  way,  but  it  ain't,"  Lim 
replied.  uThis  thing  of  individual  right  enters  in;  and 
behind  individual  right  there  stands  a  giant,  and  his  name 
is  Selfishness.  Every  man  claims  the  right  to  look  out 
for  his  own  interest.  That  sort  of  foliage  grows  on  the 
constitution.  And,  in  this  shade,  we  all  take  refuge.  But 
how  far  can  a  man  go,  lookin'  out  after  his  own  interest, 


206  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

without  running  into  the  interest  of  some  other  feller? 
The  men  that  threw  the  bricks  at  you,  Sam,  might  ordi 
narily  have  been  peaceful  citizens.  They  violated  the 
law  in  what  they  thought  the  defense  of  a  principle. 
They  set  up  the  principle  that  no  man  should  drive  one  of 
those  teams  until  their  differences  had  been  settled.  You 
came  along  and " 

"But  I  needed  work,"  Sam  protested. 

"Yes,  but  that  didn't  make  any  difference  with  them. 
They  would  have  hit  you  just  the  same  if  they  had  known 
you  were  on  that  wagon  to  keep  from  starvin'.  And  this 
is  just  where  the  trouble  is  goin'  to  come  in — their  belief 
that  they've  got  the  moral  right  to  kill  a  feller  to  keep  him 
from  breakin'  the  strike.  All  the  laws  in  the  world  won't 
convince  them  that  they  haven't  this  moral  right.  The 
employer  knows  that  justice  tells  him  that  he  may  conduct 
his  business  to  suit  himself.  He  built  it  up.  While  other 
men — workin'  men,  too — were  enjoyin'  themselves,  at  a 
show  or  a  dance,  he  was  a  walkin'  the  floor  and  a  worryin* 
over  the  best  way  to  extend  his  trade,  to  shove  it  in  advance 
of  his  competitor.  The  law  says  to  him,  '  Go  ahead  and 
employ  anyone  you  please  and  I'll  protect  you.'  But 
when  the  trouble  comes  the  law  finds  itself  unable  to  pro 
tect  him.  The  striker  is  also  a  part  of  the  moral  force 
of  the  law.  He  has  a  vote — and  he  outvotes  the  em 
ployer,  too.  That's  why  the  men  who  administer  the  law 
are  slow.  They  ain't  afraid  of  the  striker's  brick  but  of 
his  vote." 

"But  what's  to  come  of  it  all ?"  Briz  inquired. 


ON  STRIKES  207 

"That's  where  you've  got  me,"  Limuel  answered. 
"And  that's  also  where  you've  got  the  wisest  men  in  the 
country.  It  began  with  human  nature  and  nobody  can 
foresee  the  end.  Both  sides  believe  that  they  are  right. 
But  honesty  itself  ain't  always  right.  It  may  be  selfish. 
And  now,  Sam,  I'll  give  you  that  advice  I  said  I  would 
after  you  got  back.  The  next  time  you  go  to  town  and  a 
feller  asks  you  if  you  want  to  work,  find  out  if  there's  a 
strike  on;  and,  if  there  is,  walk.  Don't  even  ride  on  a 
wagon.  It's  better  to  be  out  of  work  than  in  a  hospital." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
ON  THE  COUNTRY  FIDDLER 

ONE  evening  while  old  Limuel  was  entertaining  a  party 
of  friends  at  the  Jucklin  homestead,  the  darky  woman 
who  for  more  than  a  generation  has  baked  the  family  corn 
bread  came  in  and  whispered  to  Mrs.  Jucklin. 

"The  good-for-nothing,"  said  the  mistress  of  the  house. 
"Why  on  earth  doesn't  he  go  to  work?  Limuel,  that 
triflin'  Bill  Somers  wants  a  side  of  bacon." 

"Well,  let  him  have  it,"  said  the  old  man. 

"But  he's  no  account  on  the  face  of  the  earth,"  she  per 
sisted  ;  and  the  old  man  agreed  that  with  this  statement  she 
had  swept  the  field  clear  of  argument.  Then  he  added, 
speaking  to  the  Negress :  "  Give  him  a  middlin'  of  meat — 
one  big  enough  to  founder  him  and  mebbe  he'll  let  me  alone 
for  a  while."  The  woman  went  out  and  Limuel  explained 
that  Bill  Somers  was  a  fiddler  from  over  the  creek.  "And," 
said  he,  "I  don't  know  of  anybody  that  is  much  less 
account  from  the  industrial  point  of  view  than  the  country 
fiddler.  He  spends  the  most  of  his  time  in  neglectin'  the 
things  he  ought  to  do.  Everybody  sneers  at  him,  and  yet 
the  neighbourhood  couldn't  get  along  without  him.  With 
out  him  there  couldn't  be  any  dancin'." 

The  young  preacher  was  present.  He  sighed — an  art 

208 


ON  THE  COUNTRY  FIDDLER  209 

which  he  gave  promise  of  carrying  to  a  high  state  of  devel 
opment.  The  girls  said  that  his  sigh  was  so  sweetly 
melancholy.  The  old  men  allowed  that  it  showed  depth. 
To  the  old  women  it  called  up  the  memories  of  trouble 
and  was  therefore  a  virtue.  So  the  young  man  sighed 
and  said  that  while  it  was  far  from  him  to  condemn  any 
man,  yet  he  thought  that  the  fiddle  was  a  jack-o'-lantern 
that  had  led  many  a  soul  to  perdition.  "Dancing,  Brother 
Jucklin,  has  never  benefited  a  community." 

"That  may  be  true,"  Limuel  admitted,  "but  music 
benefits  man,  and  man  dances  because  it  is  a  sort  of  body 
music.  The  most  of  the  folks  that  dance  are  light  weight, 
I  must  acknowledge,  but  they  act  out  the  music  and  it  is 
from  this  source  that  they  get  their  enjoyment.  In  one  of 
the  old  books  I  bought  at  a  sale  not  long  ago  I  read  this : 
'Every  human  feelin'  is  greater  and  larger  than  the  excitin' 
cause — a  proof  that  man  is  designed  for  a  higher  state  of 
existence;  and  this  is  deeply  implied  in  music,  in  which 
there  is  always  somethin'  more  and  beyond  the  immediate 
expression.'  All  nature  struggles  to  express  music — the 
thunder  of  the  heavens  is  a  music — the  singin'  of  a  bird 
and  the  chirrup  of  a  cricket.  Man  sings,  and  he  made 
such  a  bad  job  of  it  as  a  general  thing  that  he  had  to  call 
in  other  means  to  get  his  emotion  out  of  him,  so  he  in 
vented  instruments,  the  fiddle  bein'  the  chief  among  them. 
It  is  a  singular  thing  that  while  nearly  everybody  likes  to 
hear  a  fiddle  well  played,  but  few  people  are  wilhV  to 
admit  that  the  fiddler  is  any  account.  It  would  make  no 
difference  how  much  money  a  feller  might  earn  with  his 


210  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

fiddle,  the  American,  especially  in  the  country,  would  look 
on  it  with  a  sort  of  smile.  It  wouldn't  look  like  the  money 
was  as  honestly  earned  as  if  the  feller  had  dug  up  stumps 
for  it.  But  I  don't  think,  parson,  that  music  leads  souls 
to  perdition.  I  don't  see  why  it  should.  Now  David 
stood  pretty  well  with  the  Lord,  didn't  he?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  the  minister  answered.  "He  was  an- 
nointed." 

"Well,  David  liked  music  and  it  was  noised  about,  from 
what  I  can  infer,  that  he  danced." 

"Ah,  but  it  was  a  different  sort  of  dance,"  the  preacher 
objected. 

"Yes,"  said  old  Lim,  "mebbe  it  was,  for  fashions  in 
dancin*  change  as  time  goes  on.  But  speakin'  of  the 
fiddler:  I  think  that  in  his  way  he  serves  the  Lord  as  well 
as  anybody.  The  movement  of  music  within  him  shows 
that  his  soul  ain't  stagnant.  Over  in  the  Bald  Knob 
neighbourhood  there  used  to  be  a  fiddler  named  Josh 
Norris.  An  acquaintance  caught  him  lyin'  in  bed  one 
mornin'  after  the  sun  was  up,  and  of  course  that  branded 
him  as  bein'  no  account  whatever.  But  he  was  good 
lookin',  had  curly  hair,  and  one  of  the  comliest  girls  in 
the  community  became  his  wife.  It  appeared  to  be  a 
love  match.  She  said  that  all  the  happiness  she  desired 
was  to  sit  down  and  have  Josh  play  for  her.  And  this 
was  exactly  what  Josh  did.  The  weddin*  presents  had 
been  mostly  things  that  could  be  eaten,  and  when  they 
were  all  devoured  the  young  wife  hinted  that  Josh  ought 
to  look  around  for  somethin'  to  do.  About  that  time  he 


ON  THE  COUNTRY  FIDDLER  211 

broke  a  fiddle  string,  and  he  walked  five  miles  to  get 
another;  but  the  next  day  it  was  too  hot  for  him  to  do  any 
work,  so  he  sat  down  and  fiddled.  It  did  begin  to  look 
like  he  wa'n't  no  account.  His  wife  reproached  him  and 
he  looked  up  from  tunin'  his  fiddle  and  said,  'What,  I 
thought  you  married  for  love/  '  Well,  I  did/  she  acknowl 
edged.  'All  right,  you've  got  it,  hain't  you?'  She  was 
a  spirited  woman  and  she  drove  him  to  work.  Then, 
havin'  established  her  superiority  over  him,  she  set  in  to 
scoldin'  him  whenever  she  wa'n't  feelin'  well.  When  she 
turns,  the  most  affectionate  woman  makes  the  most  active 
scold.  Havin'  a  warm  nature,  she  can  think  of  more  hot 
things  to  say,  and  when  you  fancy  she  is  about  to  leave 
off  she  has  just  begun.  One  night  Josh  slipped  away 
and  fiddled  at  a  dance;  and  when  he  came  home  he  didn't 
know  he'd  got  there.  But  he  was  there,  sure  enough, 
and  when  he  awoke  thoroughly  he  was  tied  to  the  bed 
post  and  she  was  a  larrupin'  him  with  a  peach-tree  sprout. 
After  this  he  was  so  afraid  of  her  that  he'd  dodge  every 
time  she'd  move  her  hand  suddenly.  She  took  it  into  her 
head  that  he  didn't  love  her  and  reproached  him  with 
it.  'Love  you/  said  he;  'why,  I'm  almost  tickled  to 
death  with  you/  Then  she  sat  by  the  fire  and  cried,  and 
Josh  he  went  to  bed  and  drapped  off  to  sleep.  When  he 
awoke  she  was  a  givin'  it  to  him  with  the  peach-tree  sprout. 
She  called  him  a  brute  to  be  sleepin'  there  while  she  was 
a  sufferin'  all  alone.  Josh  might  have  been  lackin'  in 
industry,  but  she  wa'n't.  Things  got  to  be  so  bad  that  he 
decided  to  scare  her  into  treatin'  him  better.  He  almost 


212  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

decided  to  go  to  work,  but  not  quite.  He  was  an  ingenious 
feller,  and  one  night  he  rigged  himself  up  to  resemble  old 
Satan.  He  got  him  a  pair  of  horns  and  rubbed  'em  with 
the  foxfire  scraped  from  a  dead  log  and  smeared  it  on 
'em  till  they  looked  like  two  flames.  He  blacked  himself 
up,  and  havin'  skinned  a  boss  that  somebody  shot  be 
cause  it  had  broke  its  leg,  he  put  on  the  skin,  with  the  fore 
hoofs  a  danglin'  in  front.  He  was  a  sight  to  see.  His 
wife  had  gone  over  to  a  neighbour's  to  tell  the  women 
folks  how  miserable  she  was.  Josh  walked  along  the  road 
to  meet  her.  And  after  a  while  here  she  came.  He  met 
her  at  the  turn  of  the  road.  The  moon  was  full.  ' Stand 
right  where  you  are,'  said  the  devil.  'If  you  run  I'll 
ketch  you';  and  the  woman  stood,  for  she  was  unable  to 
run,  she  was  so  frightened.  'I  want  you,'  he  said.  'I 
have  found  that  you  are  unhappy  in  your  marriage  and 
I  want  you  to  marry  me.  I'll  take  you  down  below  with 
me.  Think  about  it  and  I  will  come  for  you  later.'  The 
devil  disappeared,  and  when  the  woman  reached  home 
Josh  was  sittin'  by  the  fire,  dozin'.  'Did  you  have  a  nice 
time?'  he  inquired,  and  she  says,  says  she,  'Oh,  you 
know  I  never  enjoy  myself  without  you.'  This  was  a  fact 
and  Josh  grunted.  Then  she  began  to  cry  and  to  kiss 
him.  She  said  he  was  the  best  man  that  ever  lived.  She 
asked  him  if  he  would  want  her  to  marry  anyone  else, 
and  he  replied,  '  No  one  on  this  earth,'  and  her  eyes  stuck 
out,  I  tell  you.  How  she  did  hug  him  and  kiss  him;  and 
she  asked  him  if  he  wouldn't  play  her  a  tune.  Months 
had  passed  since  she  had  let  him  scratch  his  fiddle  in  the 


ON  THE  COUNTRY  FIDDLER  213 

house,  but  he  'lowed  that  he  might  saw  out  a  note  or  two. 
Well,  she  fell  in  love  with  him  all  over  again,  and  they 
might  have  been  happy  for  a  long  time  if  he  hadn't  slipped 
off  a  footlog  one  night  while  he  was  a  comin'  from  a  dance 
and  drowned  himself." 

"I  fail  to  deduct  any  particular  moral  from  your  story/' 
said  the  minister.  "The  fiddle  was  the  cause  of  the  fel 
low's  death." 

"But  isn't  that  moral  enough?"  The  old  fellow 
laughed  and  his  wife  shook  her  head  at  him,  slowly  and 
sadly.  "No,"  said  he,  "a  neighbourhood  couldn't  get 
along  very  well  without  its  fiddler.  While  he's  fiddlin'  he 
doesn't  talk,  and  this  prevents  a  great  deal  of  lyin'.  Every 
other  man  in  the  community  thinks  himself  better  than  the 
fiddler,  and  it  is  a  virtue  to  make  folks  satisfied  with  them 
selves." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

*•' 

ON  SYMPATHY 

THE  young  minister  was  the  president  of  the  Eclectic 
Society.  He  had  brought  the  word  with  him  into  the 
neighbourhood.  It  had  a  good  sound,  was  well  suited 
to  an  intellectual  movement,  and  was  adopted  by  a  vote 
of  twenty-six  to  three.  Old  Briz  had  held  out  against  its 
adoption.  He  said  that,  though  not  exactly  opposed  to  it, 
he  thought  that  in  a  matter  of  such  importance  they  ought 
to  go  slow.  But  when  convinced  that  it  did  not  favour 
one  religious  denomination  more  than  another  he  agreed 
to  adopt  the  name.  One  of  the  first  questions  discussed 
by  the  society  was  sympathy.  The  young  minister  read 
a  paper  and  then  called  for  "views."  No  one  offered  to 
say  anything.  "Ah,  Brother  Jucklin,  haven't  you,  out 
of  your  rich  fund  of  experience,  a  few  words  for  us?"  the 
young  preacher  inquired. 

"Well,"  said  old  Lim,  "I  don't  know  that  I  can  add 
anything.  I  don't  think  we  have  gone  at  the  discussion 
part  exactly  right.  I'll  illustrate.  I  recollect  once  that 
after  the  death  of  a  member  of  our  lodge  a  passle  of  us  met 
to  say  pleasant  things  about  him.  And,  sittin'  about  in  an 
informal  way,  everyone  was  free  and  interestin'  in  his 
talk.  A  hundred  little  incidents  were  called  up,  showin' 

214 


ON  SYMPATHY  215 

that  Brother  Jackson  had  been  a  good  and  tender-hearted 
man.  But  as  soon  as  the  gavel  fell  and  called  the  meetin* 
to  order  embarrassment  sealed  the  lips  of  everyone  that 
got  up  and  attempted  to  talk.  And  so  it  is  now.  We 
can  sit  around  and  talk  about  the  subject  of  sympathy, 
and  some  of  us  might  find  a  good  thing  lyin'  hidden  away. 
But  if  we  get  up  and  address  the  meeting  why,  we  are 
embarrassed.  But  I  reckon  it's  true,  as  you  say,  that  it's 
sympathy  that  really  rules  the  world.  Man  gives  away 
in  sympathy  what  he  gathers  together  in  selfishness.  War 
is  a  horrible  thing  and  its  conception  may  be  the  selfishness 
of  the  few,  but  after  all  the  force  and  the  sweepin'  power 
of  it  is  the  sympathy  of  the  many.  It  was  sympathy  that 
brought  on  the  Spanish  War." 

"What  do  you  understand  as  sympathy?"  the  minister 
asked,  not  that  he  desired  to  know,  but  because  the  ques 
tion  was  fitting. 

"Sympathy,"  said  the  old  man,  "is  the  vapour  of  love. 
I  hope  you  won't  ask  me  to  explain  what  I  mean  by  this. 
It  is  a  feelin'  expressed  in  words,  but  which  can't  be 
reasoned  out  to  a  common-sense  conclusion.  Music  is 
a  sympathy  that  one  nerve  has  for  another,  and  hence  we 
have  what  is  called  harmony." 

Old  Briz  scratched  his  head. 

Old  Lim  continued.  "Sympathy  is  of  a  more  spiritual 
quality  than  generosity.  The  ignorant  are  even  more 
generous  than  the  learned,  but  they  ain't  as  sympathetic, 
for  sympathy  draws  upon  knowledge;  we  must  understand 
conditions  in  order  to  sympathise.  Now,  Briz,  when  you 


216  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

meet  a  man  that  wants  a  chaw  of  tobacco,  you  know  exactly 
how  he  feels.  But  do  you,  brother?"  he  inquired  of  the 
preacher. 

"I  of  course  could  not,  I  might  say,  explore  the  de 
mands  of  his  pernicious  habit,"  the  minister  replied, 
"but  I  should  know  how  to  reason  with  him  toward  the 
end  that  he  ought  not  to  have  the  tobacco." 

"No  doubt  of  that,"  old  Lim  agreed.  "But  right  at 
that  place  true  sympathy  would  not  halt  to  reason.  It  is 
not  reason  that  the  man  wants.  Sympathy  demands 
knowledge,  but  not  reason.  Reason  wants  to  argue,  and 
without  his  tobacco  a  man  that's  in  the  habit  of  usin' 
it  hasn't  got  command  of  his  faculties.  So,  sympathy 
would  give  him  a  chaw  of  tobacco  and  then  reason  with 
him — wouldn't  desire  to  take  advantage  of  him,  you 
know." 

"I  don't  think  your  argument  is  good  for  the  young 
people,"  said  the  minister. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  the  best  arguments  are  in 
tended  for  young  people.  If  they  were  so  intended,  and  if 
the  young  folks  could  understand  them,  they  would  know 
by  the  plight  of  the  man  that  had  permitted  tobacco  to 
master  him  that  he  had  done  himself  a  great  harm.  But 
gettin'  back  closer  to  sympathy  reminds  me  of  somethin* 
that  came  into  my  own  life.  Years  ago  I  was  travellin1 
away  out  in  a  lonesome  part  of  the  country  when  I  came 
upon  an  old  Negro  diggin'  a  grave.  He  was  cryin'  fit  to 
break  his  heart.  On  a  log  not  far  off  sat  a  white  man 
with  a  gun  lyin'  across  his  knees.  I  stopped  and  asked  the 


ON  SYMPATHY  217 

old  darky  why  he  cried  so.  'Is  the  grave  for  some  near 
relative?'  I  asked.  And  he  turned  his  woebegone  face 
toward  me  and  said: 

"'No,  sah,  it's  fur  me/ 

"'For  you?  Is  it  possible?  How  do  you  know  you 
aregoin'  to  die?' 

"He  pointed  toward  the  white  man.     'Ask  him.' 

'"What's  the  trouble  here?'  I  inquired.  The  white 
man  got  up  and  approached  me.  'No  trouble  at  all/ 
he  answered.  'There  was  trouble,  but  it  is  now  over 
with.  This  nigger,  Sam  Pruett,  owed  me  ten  dollars. 
Every  week  he  promised  to  pay,  but  didn't.  He  knowed 
I  was  what  they  call  a  bad  man.  He  knowed  that  I  had 
killed  half  a  dozen  white  men  and  that  I  hadn't  kept  track 
of  the  niggers  that  I'd  caused  to  shuffle  off;  still  he  wouldn't 
pay  me.  So  this  mornin'  I  went  over  to  his  cabin  and 
told  him  to  git  his  spade  and  follow  me.  He  done  so  and 
when  we  had  got  down  here  I  told  him  to  dig  his  grave. 
He  knows  me — he  knows  that  just  as  soon  as  he  gets  that 
grave  done  I'm  goin'  to  shoot  him.' 

' '  My  dear  sir,  is  it  possible  that  you ' 

"Don't  want  no  lecture  from  you,'  he  broke  in.  'I 
know  my  business.' 

"The  old  Negro  turned  to  me:  'Marster,  fur  de  Lawd's 
sake,  doan  let  him  kill  me.  I  ain't  ready  to  die  yit.  Dar's 
my  ol'  wife  wid  nobody  ter  take  kere  o'  her — an'  I  ain't 
ready  yit  ter  stan'  befo'  de  great  Marster  o'  all.  I  can't 
pay  de  ten  dollars — I  ain't  got  de  money.  De  folks 
roun'  yeah  is  all  afeerd  o'  dis  man — da  knows  he'd  ruther 


218  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

shoot  er  human  bein'  den  er  dog,  an'  so  da's  erfeerd  ter 
go  atter  de  law.  An'  sides  dat  da's  po'  an'  can't  pay  off 
de  debt.  Laws  er  massy,  whut's  ter  become  o'  mel' 

"  You've  talked  long  enough/  said  the  man,  and  I 
could  see  that  his  gun  was  cocked.  'You  are  an  old  thief 
and  you  ought  not  to  pester  the  face  of  the  earth.  Hurry 
up.  I've  got  other  matters  to  attend  to  after  I  get  through 
with  you/ 

"Look  here/  said  I,  'if  there's  any  law  in  the  country 
I'll  have  you  dealt  with  for  this.' 

"He  laughed.  'Oh,  there's  law  enough.  And  I'll 
show  you  where  to  find  it.  My  brother  is  the  circuit 
judge,  my  son-in-law  is  the  sheriff  and  the  juries  are 
mostly  drawed  from  folks  that  are  kin  to  me.  About  how 
much  law  do  you  want  to  find  ? ' 

"The  Negro  dropped  down  in  his  grave  and  began  to 
pray.  The  white  man  moved  up  a  little  closer  and 
raised  his  gun.  '  Hold  on/  I  commanded.  He  lowered  his 
gun.  'Well,  what  do  you  want  now ?'  he  inquired. 

"'How  much  does  this  poor  old  man  owe  you?' 

" 'Ten  dollars.      Get  out  of  the  way.' 

"'Hold  up,  I  tell  you.  Now  listen  to  me  a  moment. 
Will  ten  dollars  satisfy  you?' 

"'Yes.  I'm  an  honest  man,  Mister,  and  I  only  want 
what's  due  me.  This  nigger  owes  me  that  amount  and 
I've  figgered  that  his  death  would  be  worth  about  that 
much  to  me/ 

"'But  you'll  accept  the  money,  won't  you?' 

"'Yes,  I'd  just  as  leave  have  the  money/ 


ON  SYMPATHY  219 

"'Well,  here  it  is.'  I  couldn't  afford  it,  but  I  gave  him 
ten  dollars,  and  the  poor  old  darky  leaped  out  of  the  grave, 
dropped  on  the  ground  and  hugged  my  legs.  All  that  day 
I  felt  good  over  havin'  paid  that  ten  dollars.  I  looked  on 
it  as  the  best  investment  I  had  ever  made.  And  that  night, 
in  the  little  mountain  hotel,  I  sat  thinkin'  about  it,  when 
the  talk  of  two  travellers  fell  on  my  ears.  'Yes/  said  one 
of  them,  'I  paid  the  ten  dollars  and  saved  his  life.'  'So 
did  I  about  an  hour  later,'  the  other  one  laughed.  Then 
the  landlord  tittered.  'It's  such  a  good  joke  that  we 
never  warn  a  feller/  he  said.  '  All  of  us  have  been  caught— 
and  that  white  man  has  bought  a  plantation  and  the  nigger 
owns  a  dozen  mules  on  the  strength  of  it.'  I  was  mad 
enough  to  have  put  both  of  the  scoundrels  in  one  grave, 
but  I  said  nothin'.  Yes,  sir,  sympathy  is  a  great  power." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
ON    INQUISITIVENESS 

IN  the  country  when  neighbours  get  together  they 
inquire  of  one  another:  "What  ever  became  of  old  So 
and  So?"  They  know  what  became  of  him;  they  have 
discussed  him  more  than  a  hundred  times,  but  they  know 
that  the  question  as  to  what  became  of  him  prompts  some 
one  to  tell  stories  about  him,  stories  that  they  have  heard 
so  often  as  to  be  able  to  foretell  what  is  coming,  word  for 
word. 

It  was  a  lazy  afternoon.  Beneath  the  trees,  the  grass, 
headed  out,  was  nodding  sleepily.  Off  in  the  sky  a  buz 
zard  floated,  like  a  sombre  memory  in  a  mind  otherwise 
clear.  Along  the  road  an  ox  cart  creaked  its  dry-axle 
way.  Old  Limuel  sat  on  the  ground  with  his  back  against 
an  oak.  A  bandana  handkerchief  showed  red  in  his  hat 
that  lay  beside  him.  On  the  sward  several  young  fellows 
were  sprawled,  one  of  them  holding  a  tuft  of  grass  in  his 
mouth,  as  if  he  were  too  lazy  to  spit  it  out.  Old  Brizintine 
was  talking  about  a  pair  of  shoes  that  had  lasted  him  for 
more  than  a  year,  when  another  ancient  resident,  with 
hairy  chest  exposed,  a  glimpse  of  winter  stubble,  inquired 
as  to  what  ever  became  of  old  Rodney  Salem.  Every 
one  looked  to  Lim.  The  old  man  spoke: 

220 


ON  INQUISITIVENESS  221 

"That  feller  could  ask  more  questions  than  a  boy  out 
with  his  grandfather.  This  would  naturally  argy  that 
after  a  while  he'd  be  compelled  to  know  something  but 
he  never  did.  With  him  inquiry  didn't  result  in  wisdom. 
It  didn't  result  in  anything  but  more  inquiry.  I  recollect 
once  that  an  Englishman  came  to  the  town  of  Purdy,  the 
first  one  that  was  ever  seen  there,  I  reckon.  He  wasn't 
dressed  so  different  from  other  men,  but  the  minute  he 
talked  everybody  stopped  to  listen.  He  had  travelled  a 
good  deal,  necessarily,  but  with  it  all  he  was  an  innocent 
sort  of  a  man.  He  was  sitting  in  front  of  the  hotel  when 
old  Rodney  Salem  came  along.  He  sat  down  on  a  bench 
and  asked  the  Englishman  if  he  didn't  think  it  was  going 
to  rain.  The  Englishman  answered  that  he  didn't  know, 
he  was  sure.  Old  Rodney  looked  at  him  a  while  and  then 
asked  him  where  he  was  from. 

"  'From  London,  sir/ 
' '  Ah,  hah !     Well,  what's  the  news  in  your  settlement  ? ' 

"The  Englishman  started  as  if  a  brier  had  raked  him: 
'I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.' 

"Rodney  studied  for  a  moment.     'Old  town,  ain't  it?' 
he  inquired. 

'  'Heavens,  yes,  man!' 

'  'I  'lowed  so  from  all  I'd  been  able  to  gather.     On  a 
river,  ain't  it?' 

"'Yes,  on  the  Thems.' 

"  'Suffer  much  from  high  water?' 

"  'Not  at  all.' 

"  'Have  no  trouble  with  June  rises?' 


222  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"  'None  whatever,  sir.' 

"  '  Cypress  trees  growin'  along  the  banks,  I  reckon.' 

"The  Englishman  looked  at  him  and  said  nothing. 
Old  Rodney  went  on :  'I  'lowed  they  must  be  June  rises, 
for  I  hearn  somethin'  about  a  tower  there,  and  I  thought 
mebby  it  was  built  so  as  to  give  the  folks  a  chance  to  git 
up  out  of  the  way  of  the  freshet.' 

"The  Englishman  looked  at  him  pityingly  and  said: 
'No  one  knows  when  the  tower  was  built/ 

"'Mighty  nigh  as  old  as  the  river,  I  reckon.  Ain't 
there  a  man  livin'  there  named  Gladrock?' 

"  'Do  you  mean  Gladstone?  Well,  yes,  you  might  say 
he  lives  there/ 

"  'About  the  smartest  man  in  town,  ain't  he?' 

"  'A  very  able  man,  sir/ 

"  '  Got  mortgages  on  the  whole  neighbourhood,  I  reckon/ 

"  'Really,  my  dear  sir,  you  are  very,  very  peculiar,  I 
must  say/ 

"  'Needn't  say  it  unless  you  want  to.  May  I  ask  what 
your  business  is  here?'  The  Englishman  started  again, 
but  answered:  'I'm  here  to  look  at  timber/ 

"'Political  timber?  Wall,  yander  goes  Bill  Mason, 
candidate  for  sheriff,  about  as  good  timber  as  we've  got/ 

"  'Trees,  sir/ 

"  '  Oh,  trees.  Don't  want  to  buy  a  'possum  dog,  I 
reckon?' 

"'I  do  not/ 

"  'I've  got  one  that  never  told  a  lie  in  his  life.  Is  the 
Queen  a  right  sociable  sort  of  an  old  lady,  sir?' 


ON  INQUISITIVENESS  223 

"  'Sir,'  exclaimed  the  Englishman,  'you  are  unendura 
ble.  I  am  a  guest  of  this  hotel.  Evidently  you  are  not. 
Therefore,  will  you  please  leave  me  ? ' 

''Excuse  me/  said  Rodney.  'I  didn't  want  to  tech 
on  anything  unpleasant.  If  she  ain't  sociable  mebby  it 
ain't  her  fault.  See  the  Prince  of  Wales  right  frequently, 
I  take  it.' 

"  'I  have  seen  him,  sir/ 

"  'Along  about  six  feet  ten  high,  ain't  he?' 

"  'Will  you  go  away  and  leave  me?' 
'  'Excuse  me  if  I  have  pried  into  family  affairs,  but 
I'm  sociable.  Did  you  happen  to  know  Shakespeare? 
They  tell  me  he  is  a  great  writer.  But  I'll  bet  you  our 
county  court  clerk  can  come  up  to  him.  His  name  is 
Withers,  and  he  can  write  all  day  without  makin'  a  blot. 
Do  you  know ' 

"The  Englishman  jumped  up,  seized  Rodney  by  the 
collar,  wheeled  him  around  and  kicked  him  into  the 
street.  Rodney  got  up,  takin'  his  own  time  about  it, 
too,  and  said:  'If  you  ain't  busy  next  week,  mister,  I'd 
like  to  hire  you  to  thrash  my  wheat.' 

"But  you  were  asking  what  became  of  this  feller.  He 
kept  on  asking  questions,  year  in  and  year  out,  and 
apparently  never  knowin'  more  than  when  he  started. 
Finally  he  got  all  the  information  he  could  get  about  here 
and  then  took  his  load  of  ignorance  off  down  somewhere 
in  Alabama.  And  when  he  was  down  with  his  last  sickness 
he  wore  out  the  doctor  with  his  questions.  One  night 
he  said:  'Dock,  do  you  think  I'll  live  till  mornin'?' 


224  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

The  doctor  told  him  that  it  wasn't  likely.  'Then  about 
how  long?  Till  twelve  o'clock?  Say,  then,  ten  minutes 
to  twelve.  I  ought  to  live  till  then,  oughtn't  I?  What 
particular  part  of  my  machinery  seems  to  be  givin'  way 
most  at  this  minute?  Why,  I  feel  putty  strong — but  I 
can't  hear  very  well.  Between  my  ears  and  everything 
there  seems  to  be  a  silence  so  thick  that  it  can't  be  pierced 
through.  Lean  down,  Dock,  I  want  to  ask  you  a  ques 
tion.'  The  doctor  leaned  over,  but  Rodney  didn't  say 
anything;  and  the  doctor  looked  at  his  watch  and  said: 
'And  it  ain't  twelve  o'clock — quite.' ' 

One  of  the  young  fellows  remarked:  "But,  Uncle 
Lim,  how  is  a  man  ever  to  know  anything  unless  he  in 
quires?" 

"My  son,  there's  a  difference  between  inquiry  and 
questions.  Inquiry  is  silent;  questions  are  generally  asked 
not  for  the  purpose  of  gamin'  knowledge,  but  because 
some  feller  wants  to  hear  himself  talk.  The  inquisitive 
man  is  usually  the  idlest  man.  Questions  are  a  form  of 
laziness  breakin'  out.  The  laziest  man  is  usually  the 
greatest  talker.  Wisdom  is  sometimes  so  busy  with  itself 
that  it  keeps  silent.  You  can  always  hear  ignorance.  It 
asks  questions  when  it  can't  invent  anything  else  to  say. 
The  worst  thing  for  a  young  man  just  startin'  out  is  to 
want  to  hear  his  own  voice.  Because  his  employer  is 
polite  enough  to  listen  he  imagines  that  his  talk  is  winnin' 
a  place  for  him,  but  nine  chances  to  one  he'll  be  the  first 
feller  discharged.  The  habit  of  not  askin'  too  many 
questions  is  a  sort  of  wisdom  itself.  The  readiest  talker 


ON  INQUISITIVENESS  225 

ain't  the  best  companion.  The  man  that  causes  you  to 
think  is  the  best  companion,  for  there  is  nothin'  more 
pleasant,  more  thrillin'  than  the  birth  of  a  thought.  When 
ever  an  old  man  conceives  a  new  thought  he  is  for  the 
moment  young  again." 

"But,  Uncle  Lim,  how  is  it  with  woman?  Is  her  best 
companion  the  one  that  causes  her  to  think?" 

"Look  here,  young  feller,  waVt  old  Rodney  Salem 
kin  to  you?" 

"He  was  my  grandfather." 

The  old  man  arose.  "Much  obliged  to  you  for  the 
information,"  he  said.  "Good  day." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
ON  THE  PAST 

AT  the  home  of  the  oldest  inhabitant  there  had  been 
a  golden  wedding.  A  fiddler  from  over  the  creek  had 
played  "Billy  in  the  Low  Ground."  Young  women, 
handing  pies  about  the  room,  had  smiled  upon  young 
men.  Mule  colts  over  in  the  lot  bit  at  the  horses  tied  to 
the  fence.  The  moon  was  full,  a  pie  ready  to  cut.  The 
young  people  withdrew  themselves  to  play  "Weavely 
Wheat"  and  "Old  Sister  Phceby."  The  old  folk  began 
to  talk  about  the  past.  Old  Dan  Mott  said  that  the 
world  had  long  ago  seen  its  best  day. 

"That's  a  fact,"  Brizintine  spoke  up.  "Why,  do  you 
know  that  steers  can't  pull  as  much  as  they  used  to  could  ? 
It's  a  fact." 

It  was  in  order  for  a  neighbourhood  wit  to  remark 
tha,t  he  didn't  believe  that  eggs  were  as  fresh  as  they  were 
in  the  olden  day.  No  matter  who  it  was  to  make  this 
observation  it  was  sufficient  to  establish  him  for  the  occa 
sion  as  the  wit  of  the  community.  Now  it  was  made  by  a 
sandy-haired  fellow  who  had  narrowly  escaped  the  pen 
itentiary,  years  before,  having  been  brought  to  trial  on  a 
charge  of  stealing  a  calf.  Men  who  had  heard  the  saying 
a  thousands  times  clapped  their  hands  and  one  of  them, 

226 


ON  THE  PAST  227 

as  was  expected,  cried  out:  "Why,  Jake,  when  did  you 
rise  up?  We  didn't  expect  that  much  wit  from  you." 

"You  may  fetch  out  all  the  wit  you  please,"  said  Briz, 
"and  it  won't  alter  the  fact  that  what  I  said  is  true.  Life 
ain't  what  it  was." 

"And  it  never  has  been,"  spoke  up  old  Limuel.  "In 
this  world  there  never  was  but  one  glory,  and  that  was 
the  past.  The  apples  found  in  the  dewy  grass  of  the 
orchard  long  ago  were  sweeter  than  the  apples  out  in  the 
grass  now." 

"Oh,  I  expected  you  to  turn  it  off,"  replied  Briz.  "But 
you  can't  deny  it." 

"I'm  not  denyin'  it;  I'm  sayin'  that  it's  a  fact,"  said 
Limuel.  "All  the  argument  possible  to  bring  forth  can't 
convince  the  average  old  man  that  the  world  hasn't  been 
goin'  down  hill  for  the  past  forty  years.  And  the  oldest 
book  you  can  find  will  tell  you  that  such  was  the  case  as 
far  back  as  it  could  record.  Man  started  fallin'.  About 
one  of  the  first  things  that  Adam  discovered  was  that  his 
foot  had  slipped.  And  the  next  thing  he  knew  he  was 
down  and  out." 

"But  you  must  acknowledge,"  remarked  the  golden 
bridegroom,  "that  the  Lord  repented  that  He  had  made 
man." 

"Now  let  me  tell  you  about  that,"  Limuel  replied, 
scratching  his  head  for  time.  "It  sorter  reads  that  way, 
but  the  Lord  knew  what  He  was  doin'  in  the  first  place, 
for  if  He  hadn't  He  wouldn't  have  made  man.  His  pur 
poses  reached  further  than  the  creation  of  merely  one 


228  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

man.  If  He  couldn't  see  further  than  that,  He  was  an 
experimenter  and  not  an  All-Mighty  and  an  All- Wise. 
He  kept  on  creatin'  man  and  man  kept  on  a  slippin'  and 
a  slidin'  till " 

"Limuel,"  spoke  Mrs.  Jucklin,  "you'll  go  too  far  the 
first  thing  you  know." 

" Susan,"  said  he,  "if  a  man  reasons  himself  too  far 
he  still  has  enough  sense  left  to  ask  forgiveness.  But  as 
I  was  say  in',  the  Lord  kept  on  creatin'  man  until  He 
made  Solomon,  one  wiser  than  any  that  had  gone  before; 
and  I  lay  you  that  the  men  that  stood  about  the  throne  of 
Solomon  looked  back  to  the  time  when  life  was  worth 
livin' — when  man  was  wiser  and  honester.  The  high 
point  of  this  world  has  always  been  passed.  But  the  fact 
is  that  history  hasn't  yet  got  out  of  the  sunrise.  It  will 
be  thousands  of  years  yet  before  we  reach  the  noontide. 
Creation  is  still  rockin'  in  the  cradle  of  its  infancy.  It 
may  be  a  thousand  years  hence  before  man  understands 
the  full  meaning  of  the  Saviour.  You  may  speak  of  this 
as  a  money-gettin'  age,  but  it  ain't  more  so  than  when 
the  Saviour  was  sold  for  silver.  All  ages  that  we  have 
any  record  of  have  been  money-grabbin'  ages." 

"That  may  all  be,"  remarked  old  Mrs.  Nancy  Bales, 
"but  it  don't  seem  to  me  that  the  cows  give  as  much  and 
as  rich  milk  as  they  did  a  long  time  ago.  I  was  talkin* 
to  my  husband  about  it  the  other  night  and  he  was  forced 
to  agree  with  me." 

"He  wa'n't  forced  to  agree  but  was  glad  to,"  Limuel 
answered.  "And,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's  reflec- 


ON  THE  PAST  229 

tion,  "your  granddaughter's  cows  won't  give  as  much 
milk  as  yours  does,  and  I  reckon  her  granddaughter's 
cows  will  dry  up  entirely/' 

"It  wouldn't  surprise  me  in  the  least,"  the  old  lady 
spoke  up.  "And  what  the  people  will  do  for  butter  the 
Lord  only  knows." 

Mrs.  Jucklin  looked  at  her  husband,  nodded  and  said: 
"There,  what  can  you  say  to  that?" 

"Oh,  nothin'  at  all,  and  I  didn't  expect  to  before  she 
said  it.  But,  Briz,  don't  you  think  there  are  more  things 
to  make  life  easy  in  general  now  than  there  were  when 
you  was  a  boy?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  Briz  answered  without  hesitation. 

"Well,  nothin'  has  been  taken  away  and  a  good  many 
things  have  been  added."  He  scratched  his  chin.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  too  much  advice  is  given  to  the  young 
and  not  enough  to  the  old.  Youth  is  full  of  hope;  age 
is  the  time  of  regret,  and  it  is  the  regretful  that  need  help. 
This  takes  me  back  to  what  I  have  often  thought  and 
sometimes  remarked,  that  the  book  is  the  only  real  help 
and  hope  for  the  aged.  Everything  wears  out  but  wis 
dom.  The  barn  becomes  empty,  but  the  book  is  a  store 
house  that  is  always  full.  It  is  man's  past  and  his  future." 

"Well,  now  as  to  that,"  said  Briz,  "half  the  things  you 
read  ain't  true." 

"That  may  be,  but  when  you  read  a  thing  that  ain't  true 
your  mind  is  called  on  to  estimate  whether  it  is  or  not, 
and  this  gives  you  somethin'  to  think  about — it  keeps  the 
mind  young.  Somebody  said  that  the  ignorant  mind 


230  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

ought  to  congratulate  itself,  for  it  has  room  for  a  great 
thought  to  enter  in  and  stay  there.  And  there  ain't 
nothin'  more  beautiful  to  me  than  ignorance  tryin'  to 
learn.  Learnin'  is  progress,  and  as  long  as  a  man  can 
learn  he  ain't  old.  Keep  the  mind  young  and  the  body 
will  show  its  gratitude.  Wise  men  worry,  it  is  true,  but 
that  part  of  them  that  worries  is  not  the  wisest  part. 
Every  man  is  a  miracle.  The  greatest  doctor  can't  explain 
the  mystery  of  himself.  And  as  long  as  a  man  learns  he 
adds  to  the  mystery  and  therefore  keeps  up  his  youth. 
The  right  idea  is  never  to  feel  that  you  are  quite  ripe,  for 
then  decay  sets  in.  Turn  toward  ripeness  but  don't 
reach  that  stage.  The  perfume  of  the  apple  is  sweetest 
the  minute  it  begins  to  turn  ripe." 

"Oh,  it's  all  well  enough  to  talk,"  said  old  Mrs.  Nancy 
Bales,  "but  I  know  jest  as  well  as  anything  that  a  sweet- 
potato  pie  ain't  as  good  as  it  used  to  be.  They  have  lost 
the  knack  of  makin'  'em,  somehow." 

"But  ma'am,  your  granddaughter  may  say  different." 
"Gracious  alive,  Lim  Jucklin,  she  won't  eat  'em  at  all." 
"For  the  reason,  ma'am,  that  she's  got  somethin'  bet 
ter." 

Here  an  old  fellow  pointed  to  the  golden  bride  and 
bridegroom.  "Do  you  think  the  world  is  as  good  to 
them  as  it  was  fifty  years  ago  to-day  ? " 

"Well,  the  old  man  may  not  be  able  to  eat  as  much 
baked  shote  and  the  old  lady  may  not  like  pickles  as  well, 
but  they  are  nearin'  the  fulfilment  of  their  destiny  and 
ought  not  to  be  unhappy.  For  them  the  end  can't  be  far 


ON  THE  PAST  231 

off,  it  is  true,  but  it  is  the  end  that  all  animate  nature  looks 
to,  and  a  thing  that's  so  natural  can't  be  much  of  an  evil. 
Man  has  always  been  finding  wisdom  enough  to  dispute 
the  existence  of  a  future  life;  but  the  really  great  ones  have 
believed  in  it,  not  so  much  because  they  wanted  to  live 
again  as  for  the  reason  that  they  didn't  see  how  that  some- 
thin'  within  them  could  be  destroyed.  Believe  I'll  take 
another  piece  of  that  peach  pie,  if  you  please." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
ON  EATING 

THE  Hon.  Bill  Dick  Bugg,  candidate  for  the  legislature, 
gave  a  dinner  to  the  leaders  of  the  men  who  were  undoubt 
edly  going  to  elect  him — they  said.  Having  had  no  experi 
ence  in  politics  Mr.  Bugg  was  thought  to  be  an  honest 
man.  They  gave  to  him  the  title  of  "Honourable"  for 
the  sufficient  reason  that  once  when  the  president  of  the 
State  Fair  Association  gave  a  talk  in  the  village  church, 
Mr.  Bugg  introduced  the  speaker  with  a  few  most  happily 
chosen  remarks.  This  was  the  beginning  of  his  can 
didacy  for  the  legislature.  The  idea  for  a  dinner  came, 
he  said,  in  the  nature  of  an  inspiration.  He  was  walking 
about  in  his  woods  pasture,  not  thinking  about  anything 
in  particular,  when  as  suddenly  as  the  well-worn  lightning 
out  of  that  old  familiar  and  clear  sky,  the  idea  flashed 
upon  him  that  it  would  be  well  to  give  a  dinner.  He  did 
not  halt  to  debate  with  this  inspirational  suggestion. 
Such  flashes,  proving  a  higher  state  of  existence  either 
heretofore  or  hereafter,  are  not  to  be  plied  with  prosaic 
questions.  So,  Bugg  struck  a  trot  for  the  house.  Into 
the  kitchen  where  his  wife  was  patching  *a  milk 
strainer  with  a  piece  of  thin  cloth  he  burst,  even  as 
suddenly  as  the  inspired  idea  had  broken  in  upon 

232 


ON  EATING  233 

his  own  mind.  "Kate,"  he  said,  "we  are  going  to  give 
a  dinner." 

She  was  a  woman  of  strength.  She  had  met  many  an 
unexpected  shock,  but  now  she  dropped  the  strainer  and 
exclaimed:  "For  the  land  sake!" 

Well,  the  dinner  was  given,  and  there  were  present  more 
than  one  notable  of  the  neighbourhood.  Shang  W. 
Mowlett,  editor  of  the  county  paper,  drove  out  from  the 
village  of  Purdy.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Haney,  recalled  to  the 
circuit  after  an  absence  of  one  year,  was  early  upon  the 
scene.  "The  good  wife"  of  the  candidate  hoped  that  the 
brother  had  brought  his  appetite  with  him,  and  when 
opportunity  offered,  the  brother  proved  to  her  that  he 
had.  The  table  was  set  beneath  a  mulberry  tree.  Upon 
the  white  cloth  the  shadows  of  the  wavering  leaves  wove 
fantastic  shadows,  or  at  least  such  was  the  observation  of 
Miss  Paulina  S.  Beck,  teacher  of  the  neighbourhood  school. 
She  murmured  this  conceit  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Haney,  and 
with  fitting  seriousness  he  cleared  his  throat  and  said  that 
in  his  opinion  she  had  undoubtedly  struck  upon  a  poetic 
if  not  a  profound  truth.  Present  among  them  was  a 
baked  shote,  known  as  a  peach-orchard  barrow,  lean, 
active  and  possessed  of  much  juice.  He  had  been  browned 
to  a  mouth-watering  crisp.  Along  toward  the  fag  end  of 
the  feast  the  candidate  talked  eloquently  of  his  prospects; 
and  having  been  assured  of  his  election,  intimated  that 
conversation  on  other  topics  might  not  be  out  of  order. 
"Mr.  Jucklin,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  think  of  eating  in 
general?" 


234  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

"Overdone  more  than  almost  any  other  necessary  thing," 
the  old  man  answered.  "Nature  has  given  man  a  good 
deal  of  judgment  and  has  endowed  the  brute  creation  with 
instinct,  but  neither  judgment  nor  instinct  always  serve 
to  keep  man  and  beast  from  gorgin'  themselves  with  food." 

"Ah,  you  would  seem  to  make  gluttony  as  much  of  an 
evil  as  drink,"  spoke  up  Mr.  Haney. 

"Yes,  a  more  universal  evil — physically.  Eatin'  is  a 
more  individual  evil,  it  is  true;  but  it  is  a  great  evil  just 
the  same.  A  man  that  eats  too  much  dulls  his  brain,  and 
renders  his  body  inactive." 

"But  does  not  abuse  his  family,"  said  Mr.  Haney. 
The  schoolma'am  smiled. 

"  Well,  it  might  not  seem  so,  but  is  it  a  fact  ?  Too  much 
food  makes  a  man  ill-natured.  Digestion  is  the  seat  of 
good-humour.  An  overloaded  stomach  doesn't  inspire 
cheerful  words.  The  meanest  man  I  ever  knew  never 
took  a  drink  of  liquor,  but  it  would  have  strained  a  hog 
to  keep  pace  with  him  in  the  eatin'  line.  Delicate  men 
often  live  longer  than  men  of  powerful  constitution  for 
the  reason  that  they  are  forced  to  be  careful  with  their 
eatin'.  Nearly  every  man  develops  his  appetite  beyond 
his  ability.  I  knew  a  feller  once  that  was  always  com- 
plainin'  because  he  hadn't  much  of  an  appetite.  He  was 
as  well  as  anybody,  but  he  was  deprived  of  the  keen  and 
prolonged  enjoyment  of  the  table.  Finally  he  got  hold 
of  some  spring  water  that  whetted  his  appetite.  Then  he 
rejoiced.  He  could  eat  as  much  as  the  next  man.  He 
said  he  had  just  begun  to  live.  But  pretty  soon  rheuma- 


ON  EATING  235 

tism  came  along  and  gave  him  a  twist.  Then  kidney 
trouble  hopped  on  him.  He  began  to  diet,  and  died 
hungry,  I  reckon.  I  see  a  good  deal  of  talk  about  folks 
hurtin'  themselves  by  athletics.  The  fact  is  that  violent 
exercise  causes  them  to  eat  too  much,  and  this  is  one  of 
the  causes  of  the  evil.  Not  far  from  Purdy  some  fellers 
from  a  city  off  somewhere  cleared  a  set  of  golf  links.  Old 
men  came  to  play.  They  had  spent  their  lives  humped 
over  their  desks.  After  a  while  the  old  chaps  began  to 
drop  dead — just  after  dinner.  They  had  declared  that 
their  appetites  were  better  than  for  years  past.  I  heard 
one  remark  that  he  could  eat  as  he  had  when  a  boy.  As 
a  man  begins  to  grow  old  he  ought  to  lessen  the  amount  of 
his  food.  He  should  eat  oftener  and  not  so  much  at  a 
time,  like  a  child." 

Old  Briz  sat  looking  at  him.  "But  oughtn't  a  man  to 
eat  when  nature  tells  him  to  ?  " 

"Yes,"  Lim  answered,  "but  not  as  much  as  artificial 
nature  demands." 

"  But  how  is  a  man  to  know  ?" 

"  By  quittin'  before  he  feels  that  he  has  got  enough.  If 
you  stop  just  a  little  hungry  you'll  find  about  ten  minutes 
afterward  that  you  left  off  at  the  right  time.  Some  of  the 
best  things  ever  written  were  penned  by  men  in  prison 
where  they  couldn't  get  much  to  eat.  When  they  got  out 
and  were  feasted,  they  put  aside  the  inspired  pen  and  wrote 
afterward  with  a  blunt  stick.  For  the  same  reason  poverty- 
stricken  authors  have  done  such  bright  work.  More  brilliant 
thoughts  have  come  out  of  the  garret  than  the  palace." 


236  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

Mr.  Haney  took  issue.  "Some  of  the  brightest  remarks 
have  been  after-dinner  speeches,"  said  he. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "They  sound  well  at 
the  time,  when  ears  are  keyed  with  wine;  but  the  after- 
dinner  brightness  is  generally  a  story  remembered — some- 
thin'  originated  perhaps  by  a  hungry  feller." 

"What  about  the  eating  of  meat  ?"  Mr.  Haney  inquired. 
"Would  you  advise  vegetarianism?" 

"Well,  some  folks  think  it's  wrong  to  deprive  any 
creature  of  life,  in  order  to  satisfy  our  appetites.  And 
for  a  long  time  Benjamin  Franklin  thought  so,  too.  But 
once  when  he  saw  some  men  dressin'  fish  he  observed 
that  the  big  fish  had  swallowed  the  little  ones.  Then  he 
thought,  'Well,  if  you  eat  your  kin  why  shouldn't  I  eat 
you?'  And  he  did.  I  reckon  it's  necessary  to  eat  some 
meat.  If  you  don't  you  are  in  a  fair  way  to  make  a  creed 
for  yourself,  and  this  can't  help  reducin'  man  to  narrow 
ness.  Briz,  I  reckon  you  recollect  old  Andy  Gorin  ?  This 
shote  reminds  me  of  him.  One  time  it  was  given  out  that 
there  was  to  be  a  great  political  barbecue  over  in  the 
woods,  across  the  creek.  Oxen  and  sheep  were  to  be 
cooked  whole.  I  met  old  Andy  and  he  'lowed  he  was 
goin'  to  save  himself  for  the  occasion.  Well,  the  day 
drawed  around,  and  early  in  the  mornin'  I  saw  old  Andy 
walkin'  toward  the  big  woods.  I  asked  him  if  he  had 
saved  himself,  and  he  said  he  was  never  as  hungry  in  his 
life.  As  I  looked  at  him  I  knew  he  would  do  that  meat 
justice.  There  was  a  great  crowd.  At  the  signal  there 
was  a  rush.  I  saw  old  Andy  snatch  a  hunk  of  meat  that 


ON  EATING  237 

looked  like  it  had  been  chopped  out  with  an  axe.  Then 
he  disappeared.  Along  toward  night  as  I  was  goin'  on 
home  I  heard  someone  groanin'.  I  turned  aside  and 
looked  about,  and  there  was  old  Andy  lyin'  under  a  tree. 
I  asked  him  what  was  the  matter. 

"Go  on  away/  he  commanded.     'I  was  a  fool.' 

"But  I  oughtn't  to  leave  you  this  way/ 

"Go  on,  I  tell  you.  I  ate  like  a  wolf  and  I  deserve  to 
die.' 

"I  went  on  away  and  left  him,  and  he  died  right  there." 
"Limuel,"  said  Mrs.   Jucklin,  "the  Lord  knows  I'm 

lookin'  forward  to  the  time  when  you  may  be  able  to  tell 

the  truth." 


CHAPTER  XL 
A  DINNER  AT  TALBERT'S 

YOUNG  TALBERT  had  returned  from  college.  Old  Tal- 
bert  invited  the  neighbours  to  break  bread  with  the 
scholar.  The  day  was  warm  and  the  table  was  spread 
beneath  a  tree  in  the  yard.  Old  Lim  was  requested  to 
preside  as  toastmaster.  A  red-headed  boy,  catching  the 
word,  looked  about  for  the  toast  and  asked  his  mother 
why  they  had  not  brought  it.  She  pinched  him  and  com 
manded  him  to  hush.  He  howled  just  as  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Haney  bowed  his  head  to  ask  a  blessing.  Old  Mrs.  Tal- 
bert  cleared  her  throat  and  whispered  to  a  neighbour: 
"How  I'd  like  to  blister  that  little  wretch,  and  if  he  was 
mine  I  would."  As  soon  as  Mr.  Haney  had  said  "Amen," 
the  boy  shouted  for  toast  with  molasses  on  it.  "  There 
isn't  any  toast,  you  little  imp,"  his  mother  whispered  so 
loud  that  everyone  could  hear. 

"Well,  what  made  'em  say  there  was?"  he  whined. 
"Want  toast  with  molasses  on  it." 

His  mother  snatched  him  up  and  carried  him  behind 
the  house.  They  heard  the  sounds  of  a  slipper  ardently 
applied,  heard  the  boy  howl,  and  old  Mrs.  Talbert  leaned 
back  with  a  satisfied  expression  of  countenance.  The 
woman  returned  and  jammed  the  youngster  down  into 

238 


A  DINNER  AT  TALBERT'S  239 

a  chair.  Then  she  wiped  his  face  and  kissed  him.  He 
muttered  something  that  sounded  like  toast  and  she  gave 
him  a  hard  look.  Then  he  wanted  pie.  She  told  him 
that  pie  came  after  a  while.  He  wanted  pie. 

"Do  let  the  little  fellow  have  pie,"  old  Mrs.  Talbert 
pleaded,  and  after  giving  it  to  him  whispered  to  her  neigh 
bour:  "How  I  wish  he  was  mine." 

Now  the  meal  proceeded  without  interruption  and  with 
out  incident  save  when  old  Briz  swallowed  something  the 
wrong  way. 

The  young  women  were  all  of  them  keen  to  note  the 
student's  college  manners.  They  looked  at  one  another 
when  he  brought  out  the  new  pronunciation  of  a  word, 
and  when  he  said,  "I  kawn't  understand,"  they  nudged 
one  another  and  settled  it  among  themselves  that  he  would 
surely  make  a  fine  doctor,  the  profession  that  the  old  man 
had  chosen  for  him.  Old  Mrs.  Hankins  wanted  to  know 
what  church  he  favoured  now  that  he  had  learned  so  much, 
and  he  answered: 

"Aunt  Liz,  I  've  decided  that  I  can't  attend  any  of  them, 
you  know.  I  fail  to  bring  myself  down  to  the  belief  in  the 
divinity  of  Christ,  you  know." 

There  was  a  falling  of  knives  and  forks.  The  girls 
looked  at  Mr.  Haney.  The  preacher  shook  his  head 
slowly  and  was  silent.  The  student's  mother  shut  her 
lips  tight.  The  woman  whose  boy  had  howled  for  toast 
now  whispered  in  her  turn,  "I'm  thankful  he  ain't  mine." 

Old  Limuel  called  for  the  welcoming  address.  Mr. 
Haney  having  been  honoured  with  this  office,  arose  and 


240  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

in  a  restrained  and  embarrassed  manner  strove  to  say 
something,  floundered  about  and  sat  down.  Then  young 
Talbert  sprang  up  blithely  and  recited  his  written  oration. 
Other  men  and  several  women  followed,  touching  upon 
numerous  subjects  of  interest  to  the  neighbourhood,  but 
it  was  evident  that  young  Talbert's  answer  to  old  Aunt 
Liz  Hankins  had  hardened  the  spirit  of  the  feast.  After 
a  time  old  Lim  said,  speaking  to  the  medical  student: 
"Joe,  you  haven't  yet  arrived  at  the  age  when  you  can 
appreciate  Jesus  as  a  man,  to  say  nothin'  of  His  bein' 
divine.  Some  of  these  so-called  learned  fellers  will  tell 
you  that  there  have  been  a  hundred  crucified  Christs, 
but  it's  not  true.  Now  just  strip  the  subject  of  all  religion 
and  look  at  Jesus  as  you  would  a  strictly  human  philos 
opher.  Was  there  ever  such  kindliness  in  wisdom  ?  Wis 
dom  of  itself  ain't  always  kind.  It  deals  with  hard'things 
and  don't  make  'em  softer.  Wisdom  is  more  often  the 
critic  of  error  than  the  stimulation  of  virtue.  I  mean  the 
wisdom  of  the  world.  But  there  is  a  wisdom  truer  and 
deeper  than  the  knowledge  got  out  of  books,  and  it  may 
be  found  in  the  old  log  house  more  often  than  in  the  col 
lege.  It  is  the  wisdom  of  sorrow.  The  man  that  you 
don't  believe  divine  came  as  the — the  exponent  of  this 
wisdom." 

"Very  good,"  said  the  preacher. 

"Oh,  it's  a  putty  big  word,  but  I  landed  it  all  right," 
the  old  man  made  answer. 

"I  am  continuing  to  listen,"  young  Talbert  spoke  up. 
"I  do  not  deny  that  He  was  a  man  worthy  of  all  con- 


A  DINNER  AT  TALBERT'S  241 

sideration.  But  if  one  man  was  divine,  all  men  are 
divine." 

"Yes,"  drawled  old  Lim,  "that's  the  way  they  talk 
these  days.  And  understand — with  all  due  respect  to 
Brother  Haney — I  am  not  walkin'  down  the  lane  of  any 
creed." 

"But  you  are  asserting  your  belief,"  said  the  young 
man.  "And  what  is  a  belief  but  a  creed?" 

"Well,  there's  a  difference.  A  creed  is  a  belief  hard 
ened  beyond  the  possibility  of  additional  growth.  A  man 
hemmed  in  by  a  creed  may  refuse  to  look  in  a  certain 
direction,  fearin'  that  he  might  find  a  truth  opposed  to 
that  creed.  I'm  not  hampered  in  that  way.  Show  me 
a  truth  and  I  strike  at  it  like  a  black  bass.  Now  I  reckon 
in  your  readin'  you  must  have  come  across  a  good  deal 
of  what  they  call  philosophy.  And  each  one  of  the  philos 
ophers  tries  to  put  forth  a  sort  of  religion.  He  says  he's 
a-searchin'  after  truth.  But  what  is  the  object  of  truth 
if  it  don't  enable  folks  to  live  better?  If  a  philosophical 
religion  don't  help  you  to  bear  burdens,  of  what  use  is  it  ? 
I've  read  a  good  many  of  these  philosophy  books  in  the 
past  ten  or  fifteen  years.  I  didn't  have  much  education, 
as  you  must  know.  I  didn't  appear  to  need  it  as  long  as 
I  found  my  keenest  pleasure  in  game  chickens  and  race 
hosses.  But  as  I  began  to  get  sorter  old  I  found  that  I 
didn't  have  enough  things  to  think  about.  So  I  turned 
to  readin';  and  the  more  of  the  great  books  I  read,  gath- 
erin'  them  up  from  far  and  near,  the  more  I  found  out 
that  Christ  was  not  only  the  friend  of  the  poor  man  but 


242  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

the  only  friend  the  king  ever  had.  And  He  said  more  in 
a  few  words  than  all  of  the  philosophers  from  the  buildin' 
of  the  pyramids  down  to  the  potato  hill  that  old  Briz 
made  with  his  hoe  yesterday.  I'm  a  talkin',  young  feller. 
We'll  just  let  the  divine  part  go,  if  you  want  to,  and  still 
He  ought  to  be  worshipped  by  every  man,  woman  and 
child." 

"You  should  make  no  such  concession,"  said  the 
preacher.  "You  destroy  all  by  doing  so,  for  if  Christ 
were  not  divine,  Son  of  immaculate  conception,  He  was 
nothing.  He  came  that  souls  might  be  kept  out  of  the 
roaring  fires  of  torment." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "Can't  turn  loose  that 
torment  idea,  can  you  ?  You  put  me  in  mind  of  old  Jake 
Sanders — don't  mean  you  are  like  him,  but  just  cause  me 
to  think  of  him.  There  was  a  revival  meetin'  goin'  on 
over  at  Ebenezer  campground,  and  old  Jake's  wife  got 
after  him  to  go  up  to  the  mourners'  bench.  But  he  held 
back.  Finally  she  got  one  of  the  preachers  to  take  him 
down  into  the  woods  to  talk  to  him.  They  sat  down  on  a 
log.  'Did  you  ever  see  a  house  burn  up?'  the  preacher 
asked.  'Yes,'  answered  Jake,  and  the  preacher  said: 
'Well,  that  ain't  nothin'.  Did  you  ever  see  the  woods  on 
fire  in  August?'  'Yes,  I  have,'  answered  Jake.  'Well, 
that  wa'n't  nothin','  said  the  preacher.  'There  is  a  fire 
that  will  make  a  house  burnin'  and  the  big  woods  a  blazin* 
in  August  look  no  bigger  than  a  pin  feather  a  scorchin*. 
I  mean  the  fire  of  perdition.1  Jake's  eyes  began  to  stick 
out.  'You  don't  say  so/  said  he.  'You  hear  me/ 


A  DINNER  AT  TALBERT'S  243 

answered  the  preacher,  'and  among  the  gamblers  over  at 
Purdy's  the  bets  are  a  hundred  to  one  that  you'll  go  there/ 
Jake  took  off  his  straw  hat  and  began  to  fan  himself 
with  it.  'Yes/  the  preacher  continued,  'and  you'll  burn 
down  there  for  more  than  a  million  years.'  Jake  dropped 
on  his  knees  beside  the  log  and  began  to  pray.  Well, 
it  was  announced  that  havin'  come  through  he  had  religion, 
and  his  wife  went  singin'  about  her  work.  Jake  hummed 
a  little  too,  but  after  a  while  he  began  to  think  of  what  the 
preacher  had  said.  About  ten  miles  off  there  lived  a 
preacher  that  was  considered  the  biggest  one  in  the  county; 
so  Jake  catches  his  mule  and  rides  over  to  see  him.  He 
told  the  preacher  that  he  had  professed  religion  all  right, 
but  that  he  was  still  in  great  distress  over  that  fire.  He 
was  so  wrought  up  that  the  preacher,  taking  pity  on  him, 
assured  him  that  there  wasn't  any  fire.  Jake  rode  home 
in  great  glee,  and  a  few  days  later  was  convicted  of  stealin' 
sheep  and  sent  to  the  penitentiary.  And  so,  Brother 
Haney,  you  are  afraid  to  assure  us  that  there  is  no  fire. 
Will  somebody  be  kind  enough  to  give  that  boy  another 
piece  of  pie?" 


CHAPTER  XLI 
ON  FOOTBALL 

OLD  Lim  was  walking  up  and  down  the  velvet  sward 
beneath  the  trees  in  his  yard.  A  man  rode  up  to  the  gate, 
dismounted,  tied  his  horse  and  came  forward  slowly, 
cutting  at  his  leg  with  a  switch.  Lim  recognised 
him  as  a  man  from  town,  but  did  not  know  his 
name.  "I  am  Cavendish  T.  Biscom,  the  undertaker, 
Mr.  Jucklin." 

"Why,  to  be  sure.  I  was  confident  I  knew  you  and 
was  surprised  that  I  didn't.  Won't  you  come  into  the 
house?" 

"No,  thank  you,  I'm  in  somewhat  of  a  hurry.  I  have 
a  paper  here  that  I'd  like  for  you  to  sign." 

"Read  it,"  said  the  old  man.  "I  haven't  got  my 
glasses  with  me.  Just  give  me  the  juice  of  it  and  I'll 
tell  you  whether  or  not  I'll  sign." 

"I  have  here  a  petition  to  the  authorities,"  declared 
Mr.  Cavendish  T.  Biscom,  drawing  forth  a  paper  and 
striking  his  hand  with  it.  The  word  "authorities," 
uttered  by  one  who  has  great  respect  for  the  law,  and 
moreover  by  one  possessed  of  exhibitive  dignity,  calls  for 
an  attitude.  Mr.  Biscom  assumed  one,  a  pose  with  proper 
elevation  of  chin. 

244 


ON  FOOTBALL  245 

"What  are  you  asking  the  authorities  to  do?"  Lim 
inquired. 

"To  prevent,  sir,  the  playing  of  football  in  this  county." 

"  Why  so  ?    Wear  out  the  land  ?  " 

"Gracious  alive,  Mr.  Jucklin,  don't  you  know  why?" 

"I've  asked  you.  That  would  seem  to  argue  that  I 
didn't  exactly  know  why." 

"To  keep  our  boys  from  killing  one  another,  sir.  It 
is  a  most  brutal  game,  and  ought  not  to  be  permitted." 

"Let's  sit  down  for  a  few  moments  and  look  into  it." 
The  undertaker  yielded  reluctantly.  They  seated  them 
selves  on  a  "sofa"  made  of  interwoven  grapevines,  pre 
sented  to  old  Lim  by  the  boys  of  a  neighbouring  school. 

"I  fail  to  see  how  it  should  be  looked  into  as  if  it  were — 
an  ethical  question,  I  might  say.  But  if  you  see  how  it 
can  be  viewed  other  than  by  the  broad  sweep  of  a  con 
demning  eye,  proceed."  Mr.  Biscom  leaned  back, 
a-hah-ed  and  hooked  his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his 
vest. 

"You  say  it  is  a  most  brutal  game,"  said  old  Lim.  "So 
is  the  game  of  life.  All  you  fellers  that  are  tryin'  to  get 
rich  are  killin'  yourselves,  and  in  the  long  run  that's  just 
the  same  as  killin'  one  another.  You  centre  your  whole 
mind  on  gettin'  money,  and  when  you  reach  that  stage, 
the  soul  has  putty  much  reached  its  last  gasp.  When  a 
man  wears  himself  out  with  hard  work,  you  say,  as  you 
bury  him,  'a  good  citizen  gone  to  his  reward.'  Reward 
for  what?  Because  in  scufflin'  for  the  dollar  he  kicked 
his  soul  out  of  the  way?  Are  the  angels  standin'  about 


246  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

ready  to  compliment  him  for  that?  Let  us  draw  up  a 
petition  to  the  authorities  askin'  them  to  reform  human 
nature." 

"Mr.  Jucklin,  you  don't  seem  to  grasp  my  idea.  We 
cannot  reform  human  nature.  That  is  in  the  hands  of 
the  Lord." 

"Well,  then,  ain't  everything  else  in  His  hands?  If 
you  allow  Him  to  manage  only  the  affairs  that  it  suits 
your  fancy  that  He  should  manage,  He  is  not  All- wise." 

"Let  us  be  practical,  Mr.  Jucklin." 

"All  right.  We  won't  say  anything  about  the  unseemly 
strain  that  the  concern  over  health  and  the  continued  life 
of  the  children  of  men  puts  on  your  occupation.  We'll 
get  right  down  to  whether  or  not  young  fellers  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  play  football.  Sometimes  a  colt,  gallopin' 
about  in  the  woods  pasture,  runs  against  a  tree  and  hurts 
himself.  Then  should  the  colt  be  stabled  up  to  prevent 
his  runnin'?  That  would  reduce  his  value  and  his  use 
fulness  as  a  hoss.  Well  then,  ought  we  to  cut  down  all 
the  trees  in  the  pasture?  That  would  deprive  the  cattle 
of  shade.  And  as  to  football,  I  agree  that  everythimg 
possible  ought  to  be  done  to  keep  the  boys  from  hurtin' 
themselves,  but " 

"But,  my  dear  sir,  there  are  other  games,"  declared 
the  undertaker. 

"Oh,  yes,  but  did  you  ever  notice  how  tame  it  is  to  catch 
perch  after  you've  had  a  strike  or  two  from  black  bass? 
Are  there  more  fatalities  at  football  games  than  at  Sunday- 
school  picnics?  I  read  of  a  boat  sinkin'  in  a  Northern 


ON  FOOTBALL  247 

Jake  some  time  ago  and  drownin'  hundreds  of  children.  It 
will  take  football  a  good  while  to  catch  up  with  that,  and 
yet  you  wouldn't  sign  a  petition  to  prevent  all  Sunday- 
school  picnics." 

"Still  you  are  wide  of  the  mark,  Mr.  Jucklin.  Over 
indulgence  in  football  leaves  a  young  man  unfitted  for  the 
duties  of  life." 

"And  so  does  over-indulgence  in  pie.  Do  you  want 
to  get  up  a  petition  to  have  pie  abolished?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  being  personal,  Mr.  Jucklin, 
but  it  is  singular  that  at  your  time  of  life  you  should  view 
things  so  lightly." 

"Ah,  hah!  And  it's  viewin'  things  so  lightly  that  has 
enabled  me  to  reach  my  time  of  life.  The  man  that  is 
all  the  time  tryin'  to  make  a  thing  more  serious  than  it  is 
will  always  find  sad  work  in  plenty." 

"You  forget,"  said  the  undertaker,  "that  the  Saviour 
was  a  man  of  grief." 

"No,  I  don't.  He  took  our  grief  that  we  might  not 
grieve  so  much.  He  called  for  children,  not  to  make  them 
weep,  but  to  take  them  into  His  arms  and  make  them 
happy.  And  can't  you  picture  that  the  little  folks  went 
smilin'  home,  happy  in  their  hearts,  to  tell  their  mothers 
of  the  new  joy  that  had  come  to  them  ?  But  I  beg  your 
pardon,  you  want  to  talk  about  football.  About  how 
many  football  players  have  you  buried — as  a  rough  guess, 
you  understand?" 

"Well,  really,  I  haven't  buried  any." 

"What!  were  they  left  unburied?    That  was  a  shame, 


248  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

sir.  Let  us  draw  up  a  petition  askin'  the  authorities  to 
see  that  all  youths  killed  at  football  shall  be  buried  just 
the  same  as  if  they  had  met  death  at  a  picnic — just  the 
same  as  the  man  that  smothers  his  kidneys  with  humpin* 
over  his  desk.  Draw  it  up  and  I'll  be  the  first  one  to 
sign  it." 

"You  are  a  grim  joker,  Mr.  Jucklin." 

"Not  half  so  grim  as  you  are.  In  order  to  live,  to  pay 
your  debts,  to  go  to  places  of  amusement,  you  must  wait 
for  death.  And  when  it  comes  you  must  appear  sorry. 
But  that's  all  right.  It  doesn't  do  any  harm,  and  it  makes 
your  belated  joke  all  the  brighter  when  it  comes — not 
necessarily  so  bright  as  unexpected,  occasion  makin'  it 
funny  like  a  sneeze  in  church.  But  I  beg  your  pardon. 
We  were  talkin'  about  football.  In  the  affairs  of  this  life 
it  seems  that  the  best  results  are  reached  by  trainin'  the 
muscles  and  the  judgment.  All  muscle  makes  a  man  given 
too  much  to  animal  strength.  The  trainin'  of  the  mind 
alone  is  too  apt  to  make  him  a  physical  weaklin'.  Football 
brings  out  both  bodily  strength  and  judgment.  I  am  told 
that  the  American  football  player  is  an  ideal  soldier,  both 
as  a  private  and  as  an  officer.  So,  instead  of  seekin'  to  do 
away  with  the  game,  let  us  try  to  inject  more  judgment 
into  it.  Above  all,  let  us  strive  to  be  reasonable.  As  a 
man  grows  older  it  would  seem  that  his  reason  ought  to 
be  developed  more  and  more,  but  instead,  his  prejudices 
harden." 

"I  didn't  know,"  said  Biscom,  "that  I  was  to  encounter 


so  wise  a  man." 


ON  FOOTBALL  249 

"Wise!  why,  bless  your  soul!  I  have  to  do  a  good  deal 
of  dodgin'  to  keep  nearly  everybody  from  insistin'  on  the 
fact  that  I'm  a  fool.  The  truth  is,  I  have  accepted  the 
fact,  and  that's  why  I  appear  so  contented.  This  mornin* 
when  I  put  my  shirt  on  over  my  vest,  my  wife  she  said, 
'Why,  Limuel,  a  monkey  wouldn't  do  that/  'Yes/  I 
'lowed,  'and  he's  still  a  monkey  because  he  hasn't  built 
himself  an  opportunity  to  do  it.  If  he  had  made  for  him 
self  a  vest  and  a  shirt,  he'd  be  a  man  instead  of  a  monkey.' 
And  then  she  said :  '  Well,  I  don't  see  any  particular  advan 
tage  in  that.'  This  tickled  me  mightily  because  there  was 
a  lot  of  truth  in  it.  But  I  answered :  '  My  dear,  a  man  has 
the  advantage  over  the  monkey  from  the  fact  that  man  is 
the  husband  of  woman.'  And  I  thought  I  had  her  here, 
but  she  looked  back  as  she  was  goin'  out  at  the  door,  and 
says,  says  she:  'I  acknowledge  the  advantage  for  the  man, 
but  where  does  the  woman  come  in  ? '  Again  let  me  beg 
your  pardon.  We  were  talkin'  about  football." 

"And  are  you  going  to  sign  the  petition?" 

"No,  I  don't  believe  I  can  to-day." 

"It  is  your  desire,  then,  that  the  boys  continue  to  maim 
and  to  kill  themselves." 

"  Can't  say  as  to  that,  but  it  is  my  desire  that  boys  con 
tinue  to  be  boys  so  that  when  the  time  comes  they  may 
be  real  men." 

"But  perhaps,  Mr.  Jucklin,  I  haven't  stated  the  gist  of 
this  paper.  I  will  read  it  over,"  and  then  in  deep  serious 
ness  he  read  the  following:  "Dear  Uncle  Lim  Jucklin, 
will  you  please  let  us  play  football  in  your  south  pasture?" 


250  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

Signed,  "Purdy  High  School."    The  undertaker  broke 
forth  in  a  mighty  roar. 

"Biscom,"  said  the  old  man,  "you  have  put  it  on  me. 
I  ought  to  have  been  a  little  suspicious,  for  hanged  if  I 
can  see  how  an  undertaker  can  object  to  football.  Come 
down  into  the  cellar  and  we'll  knock  a  kag  of  cider  in 
the  head." 


CHAPTER  XLII 
ON  GETTING  RICH  QUICK 

IT  was  noticed  that  Brizintine  was  driving  about  the 
neighbourhood  with  a  stranger.  The  county  clerk  said 
that  as  he  had  examined  many  of  the  deeds  and  titles  in 
the  office  it  must  be  the  newcomer's  intention  to  buy  land. 
Another  noticeable  phase  of  the  stranger's  stay  was  the 
fact  that  Briz  shaved  and  put  on  a  clean  shirt  every  morn 
ing.  Soon  it  was  made  known  that  the  visitor,  Colonel 
Bloodgood  Hickerson,  was  going  to  give  five  hundred 
dollars  toward  the  building  of  a  new  church.  Then 
everybody  was  inclined  to  bow  down  before  Briz.  The 
postmaster  said  to  him:  "You  have  always  been  one  of 
our  most  progressive  citizens." 

"I  know  all  that,"  Briz  answered,  "but  I  haven't 
always  been  appreciated.  After  this  I  guess  I  will  be. 
I  am  going  to  build  me  a  new  house  and  live  like  a  white 
man." 

"Ah,  I  congratulate  you,"  said  the  postmaster.  "But 
tell  me  how  you  managed  to  get  that  rich  man  interested 
in  this  neighbourhood?" 

"Why,  he  had  heard  of  me — wrote  to  me,  and  I  made 
an  appointment  to  meet  him  here  and  he  came.  Oh,  you 
fellers  have  always  thought  that  nobody  outside  the  county 

251 


252  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

ever  heard  of  me,  and  I  have  had  to  bear  with  it,  but 
times  have  changed." 

Three  days  later  Colonel  Bloodgood  Hickerson  took 
his  leave,  having  settled  upon  the  exact  spot  for  the  new 
church.  Two  more  days  passed  and  then,  one  afternoon, 
Briz  called  on  old  Limuel.  Jucklin  was  dozing  beneath 
a  tree  in  the  yard.  He  got  up  from  his  bench  and  invited 
Briz  to  sit  down. 

"I  oughtn't  to  sit  but  to  lie  down  and  never  git  up," 
said  Briz. 

"Why,  what's  the  trouble?" 

"Lim,  I'm  ruined." 

"You  don't  tell  me!" 

"Ruined,  Lim." 

"But  how?" 

"I  mortgaged  everything  I  had  for  three  thousand 
dollars  and  gave  the  money  to — to  that  infernal  scoundrel 
Hickerson."  He  sat  down  with  a  groan. 

"Why  did  you  do  it?"  Lim  inquired. 

"Because  he  showed  me  how  I  could  be  the  richest 
man  not  only  in  the  county  but  in  the  state.  I  am  ashamed 
to  tell  you  how  it  happened.  I  can't  understand  how  it 
was  that  I  could  have  been  such  a  fool.  He  told  me  he 
had  at  one  time  a  brother  in  the  money  printing  depart 
ment  in  Washington.  One  night  robbers  broke  in  and 
stole  the  plates  they  print  the  big  money  on.  That  is, 
such  was  the  report.  But  the  fact  is  that  Hickerson's 
brother  got  the  plates.  He  did  it  because  the  Government 
owed  his  father  for  depredations  committed  by  soldiers 


ON  GETTING  RICH  QUICK  253 

durin'  the  war,  and  he  was  determined  that  the  debt 
should  be  paid.  I  don't  know  all  the  persuasion  this 
feller  Hickerson  used  on  me.  He  said  that  my  home  and 
all  my  prospects  had  been  injured  by  the  war  and  that 
it  was  no  more  than  right  that  I  should  be  rewarded.  He 
Heeded  three  thousand  dollars  to  buy  a  press — had  money 
enough  of  his  own  but  it  was  invested.  I — I  don't  know 
how  it  was,  but  he  got  my  money." 

"Briz,  I  know  how  it  was.  He  got  your  money  because 
you  wa'n't  honest.  You  are  just  as  much  of  a  thief  as 
he  is." 

"You  shaVt  talk  to  me  that  way!" 

"Sit  down,"  said  Lim.  "If  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst  I  can  thrash  you.  You  know  that  well  enough,  so 
you  ought  to  find  yourself  in  a  position  to  discuss  the 
truth  quietly.  He  touched  you  up  with  a  desire  to  get 
rich.  You  didn't  take  into  account  that  you  were  gettin' 
old  and  can't  in  nature  live  but  a  few  years  longer.  In 
your  resentment  against  the  fact  that  you  had  to  work 
you  shut  your  eyes  to  one  of  the  worst  forms  of  dishonesty, 
the  same  bein'  counterfeitin'.  If  there's  a  man  that 
can't  afford  to  be  dishonest  it  is  the  old  man.  It's  bad 
enough  with  the  youngster  but  much  worse  with  the  aged. 
Of  course  I  am  sorry  you  lost  your  money,  but  somehow 
I  can't  wet  my  eyes  with  sympathy." 

"Everythin'  gone,"  Briz  moaned,  sitting  down  again. 

"Yes,  gone  because  you  wa'n't  honest." 

"But  the  man  that  got  it  is  a  thief!"  Briz  declared. 

"Yes,  undoubtedly,  and  a  better  thief  than  you  are.     I 


254  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

reckon  he  must  have  taken  it  up  earlier  in  life.  Whatever 
a  man  undertakes  he  ought  to  perfect  himself  in  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment.  A  man  ought  not  to  change 
his  profession  after  he  gets  as  old  as  you  are.  In  honesty 
there  are  mighty  few  chances  to  get  rich  quick,  but  there's 
a  dev'lish  sight  of  satisfaction  in  knowin'  that  what 
you've  got  really  belongs  to  you.  Suppose  you  had  a 
million  dollars,  Briz,  what  would  you  do  with  it  ?  You'd 
go  away  to  some  town  and  be  laughed  at,  I  guess.  You'd 
go  in  and  order  a  meal  and  kill  yourself.  If  you  escaped 
dyin'  right  then  all  of  the  diseases  that  have  a  contempt 
for  the  average  poor  man  would  crowd  around  to  asso 
ciate  with  you.  It  would  seem  that  everybody  was  tryin' 
to  rob  you,  and  when  you  had  discovered  that  all  the 
brightness  that  you  supposed  was  in  the  world  wa'n't 
nothin'  but  the  ordinary  yaller  that  covers  a  dog  you'd 
hobble  home  to  die  in  disgust,  where  you  might  have 
died  with  the  name  of  the  Lord  on  your  lips." 
"Wish  I  was  dead  this  minute,"  Briz  groaned. 
"Well,  I  won't  say  it  wouldn't  be  better  for  you,  for  I 
am  inclined  to  think  it  would.  Does  your  wife  know 
about  it?" 

"No,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  her." 
"I  reckon  not.     It's  hard  for  a  man  to  acknowledge 
even  to  his  wife  that  he's  not  only  dishonest  but  a  blamed 
fool.     Don't  tell  her  till  you  have  to." 

"What,  would  you  have  me  deceive  her?" 
"Oh,  you  old  hippercrit,  Briz.     Let  me  see.     Three 
thousand    dollars — just    about    all    your    farm's    worth. 


ON  GETTING  RICH  QUICK  255 

Nobody  but  you  and  your  wife — had  plenty  to  live  on; 
but  you  wanted  to  be  rich.  Why,  because  you  are  tired 
of  work  ?  Idleness  is  a  hundred  per  cent,  more  tiresome 
than  work.  I'd  just  like  to  get  on  the  inside  of  your  mind 
for  a  minit  and  look  around.  About  two  months  ago  I 
met  old  Dabney  Branch.  We  rode  along  horseback 
together.  He  was  complainin'  because  the  rate  of  interest 
was  lower  than  it  had  been.  I  told  him  it  wasn't  a  bad 
sign  for  the  neighbourhood;  that  it  wouldn't  argue  the 
cryin'  need  of  money.  I  asked  him  about  how  much 
money  he  could  lend,  and  he  said  he  could  spare  twenty- 
five  thousand,  on  good  security.  I  asked  him  how  old 
he  was  and  he  answered  that  he  was  eighty-two.  That 
old  and  with  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  he  didn't  need! 
Then  I  said  to  him,  I  says,  'Mr.  Branch,  I'll  bet  you  ten 
dollars  you  won't  live  two  months.'  'What  the  deuce  do 
you  mean?'  he  cried  out.  'Oh,  I  don't  want  to  offend 
you — just  want  the  ten  dollars.  Take  the  bet  ? '  '  Jucklin,' 
he  said,  'I  am  ashamed  of  you  thus  to  make  game  of 
Providence.'  'Oh,'  said  I,  'you  are  the  one  that  is  makin* 
game  of  Providence.  Providence  has  tried  to  teach  you 
a  lesson  and  you  have  deafened  your  ears.  But,  Mr. 
Branch,  there's  one  thing  I'd  like  to  know.  How  can 
you  be  interested  in  gettin'  more  money  when  you  have 
more  than  you  need  ?  Good-bye;  I  don't  expect  ever  to 
see  you  again.'  And  as  you  know,  Briz,  he  died  last 
week.  Good  thing.  Oh,  I  tell  you  old  Nature  is  a  great 
democrat." 

"I  wish  I  had  another  chance  to  be  honest,"  said 


256  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

Briz.  "If  I  could  only  keep  my  home  I'd  thank  the 
Lord  the  rest  of  my  days." 

"Yes,  I  guess  so.  What  have  they  done  toward  catchin' 
the  thief?" 

"Well,  two  deputy  sheriffs  have  started  out  from  Purdy 
and — here  comes  one  of  them  now." 

An  officer  of  the  law  dismounted  at  the  fence.  Briz 
hastened  to  meet  him.  "We  caught  the  fellow  and  he 
had  your  money  on  him,"  said  the  officer.  Briz  took 
hold  of  a  tree  to  keep  from  falling.  "Lim,"  he  said, 
"give  me  your  hand." 

"Well,"  the  old  man  drawled,  "don't  let  us  be  in  too 
big  a  hurry  about  it.  I  want  to  see  you  make  your  first 
real  stagger  toward  servin*  the  Lord." 


CHAPTER  XLIII 
ON  PATIENCE 

THERE  had  been  rain,  there  was  a  young  moon,  the 
dogwood  was  in  bloom;  and  Lit  Prior  "norated"  it  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  post-office  that  bullheads  were 
biting  down  at  Frazier's  dam.  A  party  was  soon  organ 
ised. 

All  fishermen  are  young.  Few  men  live  beyond  that 
period  when  they  feel  the  thrill  of  a  bite  at  the  hook.  The 
butterfly  of  metaphysics  may  be  pursued  until  it  disappears 
amid  the  ruins  of  human  institutions;  mathematics  may 
be  studied  until  the  mind  loses  its  estimation  of  figures 
and  fades  away  among  the  meaningless  stars;  age  totter 
ing  on  toward  the  physical  end-all,  halting  in  the  shade, 
is  deaf  to  music  and  blind  to  science — there  is  only  the 
past  left  to  contemplate.  But  when  the  fish  nibbles,  the 
past  and  the  future  become  a  vivified  present,  and  the 
child  and  the  great-grandsire  are  companions. 

On  the  bank  of  the  creek  sat  the  old  man  and  the  boys. 
Upon  the  soft  air  the  mill  dam  poured  forth  its  opera.  In 
the  water  the  young  moon  looked  like  a  silver  fish,  flounc 
ing. 

"It's  my  record  to  catch  the  first  fish,"  said  old  Briz. 
"Don't  talk,  you  boys." 

257 


258  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

Lit  Prior  pulled  out  a  bullhead.  "You  must  have 
slipped  a  cog,  Briz,"  remarked  old  Limuel.  "Come  in, 
come  in,"  and  the  philosopher  hauled  forth  a  channel 
cat.  Then  one  of  the  youngsters  was  visited  by  luck. 
"When  I  catch  mine  he'll  be  a  good  one,"  said  Briz.  "It 
takes  patience  to  catch  a  big  fish,  and  that's  me.  Lim, 
did  you  ever  see  a  feller  more  patienter  than  I  am?" 

"I  reckon  that's  one  of  your  virtues.  Helloa,  I've  got 
another  one." 

Lit  hauled  out  another;  and  then  up  and  down  the 
bank  there  was  almost  a  continuous  flopping. 

"Well,  I'll  be  blamed  if  I  understand  it,"  said  Briz. 

"Mebbe  you  ain't  patient  enough,"  Limuel  answered 

"Patient  enough!  Why,  confound  it,  I  haven't  moved. 
I've  got  a  piece  of  beef  on  my  hook,  the  very  thing  a  cat 
fish  would  climb  a  tree  to  get,  but  not  one  has  paid  any 
attention  to  me.  The  bait's  still  on,  for  it  couldn't  get 
off  itself,  and  if  anythin'  had  touched  the  hook  I  would 
V  knowed  it." 

The  flopping  up  and  down  the  bank  continued.  "Do 
you  find  your  patience  payin'  a  putty  good  rate  of  inter 
est?"  Lim  inquired. 

"Now,  look  here,  Jucklin,  none  of  your  bull-raggin*. 
I'm  just  as  good  a  fisherman  as  you  ever  dared  to  be, 
and  I  want  you  to  understand  that  fact." 

"Better,"  Lim  agreed.     "You've  got  more  patience." 

"That's  all  right,  now,  but  you'll  see  me  go  home  with 
the  most  fish." 

"Yes,  I  may  let  you  tote  mine  for  me,  Briz.     Helloa, 


ON  PATIENCE  259 

Fve  got  another.  Hike,  there,  swing  corners.  Can't 
see  him  from  there,  can  you?  He's  as  yaller,  Briz,  as 
the  gold  standard.  Now  I'll  just  drop  back  in  there  and 
get  his  mate.  Lit,  this  is  a  beautiful  night,  ain't  it? 
Looks  like  the  rain  last  night  freshened  all  the  stars. 
Moon  seems  to  be  drippin'  silver  dew.  Ah,  a  whopper 
fanned  my  hook  with  his  tail." 

"I  wish  you  fellers  would  keep  quiet,"  said  Briz. 
"How  do  you  expect  fish  to  bite  when  you  keep  up  such 
a  gabble  ?  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  understand  it." 

"Mebbe  you  read  your  almanac  wrong,"  Lim  remarked. 

"Now,  Lim,  that's  all  right,  but  I  can  stand  jest  so 
much  of  it,  you  know.  Those  things  you're  ketchin' 
there  ain't  fitten  to  eat." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,  Briz." 

"Why  so?" 

"Because  I  was  goin'  to  send  you  over  a  mess  of  'em." 

"Oh,  you  be  blowed.     I  can  get  all  the  fish  I  want." 

"Yes,  they  ought  to  be  cheap  this  time  of  the  year 
when  they  bite  so  free.  I'll  tell  you,  Briz;  mebbe  you 
forgot  to  spit  on  your  hook."  "Hi,"  cried  Lit,  farther 
up  the  bank,  "I've  caught  a  jack  salmon  with  teeth  as 
big  as  hominy  corn." 

"What  do  I  care!"  Briz  exclaimed.  "What  do  I  want 
with  as  scaley  a  thing  as  a  jack  salmon  ?  But,  Limuel, 
I'll  swear  this  beats  anythin'  I  ever  saw.  Not  a  fish  has 
even  bowed  to  my  hook.  Say,  one  of  you  boys  bring  the 
lantern  over  here.  I  just  want  to  see  what  sort  of  water 
this  is." 


260  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

The  lantern  was  brought.  Old  Limuel  came  mis 
chievously  with  the  bearer  of  the  light.  Suddenly  the 
chicken  fighter  burst  forth  in  a  roar.  On  the  branch  of  a 
tree  Briz's  hook  was  hanging.  It  had  not  touched  the 
water.  "Now  you've  scared  all  the  fish  away  and  they 
won't  bite  any  more  till  next  spring,"  Briz  declared.  "  Oh, 
laugh  till  you  kill  your  fool  self,  it  don't  make  any  differ 
ence  to  me.  But  I  do  like  to  be  with  a  man  that's  got 
some  little  sense.  Oh,  snort  if  you  want  to.  Jucklin, 
you  put  me  in  mind  of  a  hog  jumped  up  out  of  the  corner 
of  the  fence." 

He  got  his  line  off  the  twig  and  dropped  the  hook  into 
the  water.  But  the  fish  had  ceased  to  bite.  "Yes,"  said 
Lim,  "patience  is  a  good  thing  up  to  a  certain  point.  But 
patience  can  become  a  sort  of  stagnation.  A  man  ought 
to  investigate  and  find  out  why  he  should  be  patient. 
Patience  is  sometimes  a  finer  quality  of  laziness.  Out  of 
impatience  has  come  the  progress  of  the  world.  Patience 
is  a  sort  of  contentment,  slowly  movin'  from  one  minute 
to  another.  At  best  it  is  a  sort  of  oozin'  virtue.  There 
is  a  difference  between  consideration  for  others  and 
patience  with  yourself." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  Briz  answered.  "I  take 
issue  with  your — your  premises,  or  whatever  else  you 
may  call  it." 

"Ah,  hah!  and  that  is  to  say  that  no  matter  what  I 
might  have  said  you  would  have  said  it  wa'n't  so.  Did 
you  get  a  bite  then  ?" 

"  I  told  you  they  wouldn't  bite  any  more  till  next  spring. 


ON  PATIENCE  261 

Here  I  set  for  an  hour  while  you  fellers  pulled  'em  out, 
and  as  soon  as  you  had  caught  as  many  as  you  wanted 
you  skeered  the  rest  away.  Fine  thing  to  invite  a  man  to 
go  fishin'  and  treat  him  that  way." 

"Don't  be  impatient,"  said  Lim.  "Next  spring  will 
be  here  after  a  while  and  they'll  bite  then." 

"Well,  that  may  be,  but  I'll  take  care  not  to  come  with 
you,  Limuel." 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  you  will,  for  by  that  time  I'll  teach  you 
not  to  have  so  much  patience.  But  I  believe  you  said 
you  took  issue  with  me.  Briz,  as  far  as  I  have  been  able 
to  read  and  to  discover,  it's  the  nervous  man  that  does 
things,  and  nerves  don't  always  know  how  to  be  patient. 
Sound  judgment  may  sometimes  come  out  of  sloth,  but 
it's  nerves  that  flash  out  genius.  They  are  the  telegraph 
wires  of  the  mind." 

"Lim,  I  thought  you  was  more  a  preacher  of  content 
ment  than  that." 

"Oh,  contentment  is  all  right  up  to  the  point  where 
it's  attacked  by  softenin'  of  the  brain.  But  it  is  about 
the  lowest  order  of  virtue  a  man  can  boast  of.  Perhaps 
the  highest  form  is  the  dischargin'  of  the  obligations  we 
owe  to  others.  Contentment  serves  only  itself.  It  is  like 
the  religion  of  the  man  that  is  constantly  cryin':  'Oh, 
Lord,  bless  me.'  You  boys  spread  down  the  blankets  over 
there  and  we'll  sleep  here  to-night;  and  Briz,  in  the  mornin* 
there  may  be  a  sunfish  waitin'  for  your  hook." 

"  I  don't  want  none  of  your  forecasting,"  Briz  answered. 

The  blankets  were  spread  beneath  a  tree.    Briz  lay 


262  OLD  LIM  JUCKLIN 

down,  muttering.  He  said  to  Jucklin:  "I  don't  believe 
I'll  speak  to  you  again  to-night.  I  am  about  to  throw 
off  your — your  society." 

For  a  long  time  they  lay  in  silence.  A  night  bird  was 
calling. 

"Lim?" 

"Ah,  hah!" 

"Good  night,  Lim." 

"Goodnight,  Briz" 


Read,   0«   P« 


Old  Lim  tucklin 


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